


(no time for) Spreadin' Roots

by SpinnerDolphin



Series: Angel Network [8]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lucifer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crowley yells a lot, Dean meets angel network, F/M, M/M, So all that stuff going on in Nightmare World?, yeah that's a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27435568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinnerDolphin/pseuds/SpinnerDolphin
Summary: When Castiel is determined to go over to Daydream World to warn his friends about Chuck, Dean won't let him go alone.On the other side, Dean meets a demon who everyone says is cuddly (he'll believe it when he sees it), a Lucifer who definitely is cuddly, a Hellhound with a rubber llama, and he learns about this thing called a paradox that Cas seems weirdly embarrassed about. What even is Daydream World?Also: the world is ending, but that's not new.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Castiel/Dean Winchester, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Angel Network [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1364311
Comments: 1689
Kudos: 883





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO EVERYONE AND WELCOME BACK! If you're returning, and if you've been dying for more Winchesters, you are in luck because this fic is entirely Dean POV. If you don't know SPN, no worries; you should have everything you need to know from the previous stories. We're doing outsider POV again because I am a sucker for it. 
> 
> If you are new! This one won't make much sense. If you're new and from SPN fandom, go read (War) What Is It Good For first and that'll help; for everything else you'll be right there with Dean going WTF haha. 
> 
> .... you guys, Dean is really hard to write. Also: I wrote this fic in like April. So SPN stuff: this takes place during the hiatus. Jack just got his soul back, and that's where we're going from. ALSO ALSO SPN FANDOM EVERYTHING IS INSANE?? I AM FLAILING. 
> 
> Anyway. On with the fic!
> 
> MANY MANY MANY THANKS TO [ Katadactyl ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katadactyl), [ Viola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feartheviolas/pseuds/feartheviolas) and [ Hope4Tomorrow ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope4Tomorrow/pseuds/Hope4Tomorrow)FOR BETAING THIS!!!!

Dean Winchester had a lot of things on his mind.

The first was that Cas was a freakin’ idiot, but this was a recurring theme in his life. The next was that Jack had disappeared into his room, and had not come out for dinner, which was not like him, especially now that he had come back to life and seemed always hungry. Then there was the state of the multiverse and the huge tantrum Chuck—God—had thrown weeks ago, and how he had just started smashing his toys. Unfortunately, his toys were whole worlds, so this was bad, but not something Dean could fix right now. Besides, the end of the world was nothing new; it was the story of Dean’s damned life. The last thing on his mind was Sammy, sitting across from him at the table, poking unhappily at his dinner.

“You think Cas is gonna just—camp out in front of his room?” Dean asked. He glanced back at the pot, where there were sausages, which Sam had bought on a whim the other night. Though he didn’t eat, Cas generally sat with them for dinner. He’d been known to call them over when whatever meal was finished cooking. Eating or not, Cas still usually participated. It was nice.

“Dean. Jack just got his soul back. He’s a little freaked out,” Sam hissed. “ _I’m_ a little freaked out. Why are you not freaked out?”

Dean chewed on his sausage and shrugged. He was pretty freaked, but he’d reached a level of freaked, what with the whole Chuck smashing worlds thing, where he was approaching critical mass. He could not physically be more freaked, so what was one more thing? As far as he could tell, Jack having his soul back was _good_ , even if the process of him getting it back had been incredibly bizarre.

He took another bite of his sausage. Honestly, the sausage thing would be way funnier if Cas were here. He wouldn’t get it. It would be great. They were good sausages, too.

Sam, clearly following his train of thought from whatever look he had on his face, rolled his eyes.

There was a breeze, from nowhere, rushing through the kitchen. It had a bite to it, like the first whiff of winter. This was a familiar bite: after all these years, Dean could recognize Boreas by temperature alone, even if he couldn’t see the creature itself. A letter, old, heavy parchment, appeared from nothing and fell gracefully to the table. Dean blinked at it, startled.

Missives from Daydream World came from time to time, though mostly Cas was rather quiet about them. They had increased, over the years. He shared if asked – he wasn’t hiding anything – but it seemed like he wanted to hold them close to his heart, so Dean mostly let him. That this thing fell in front of him when Cas was perfectly available was unusual. Boreas generally only came to Dean when Cas was busy.

Sam shrugged at him[1]. Dean picked up the letter.

_Dean Winchester, you absolute prat,_ it began.

“Seriously?” Dean muttered, but he continued.

_Castiel is being vague, and I am worried. What does he mean when he says that God might do horrible things? Am I calling Adam? Do I have to tell Lucifer? Please don’t make me tell Lucifer, he will go BALLISTIC and nobody needs that. I don’t want another apocalypse. I don’t want humanity to get caught in the crossfire._

I _don’t want to get caught in the crossfire!_

_Please tell me what is happening. And tell Castiel to stop being vague, it’s bloody scary!_

_Crowley_

Dean blinked down at the letter. “What?” he blurted.

Sam chewed his sausage. He held out a hand. Dean gave him the letter and watched his eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Which one’s Crowley, again?” Dean asked. He could never keep it straight.

“He’s the demon,” Sam replied[2]. Right. That should have been easy to remember, given their own Crowley, but for some reason it wasn’t.

“The good demon,” Dean murmured thoughtfully. Cas always said _a demon with a gentle soul,_ but Dean felt like an idiot saying it like that.

“He sounds like he’s freaking out,” Sam said.

“Yeah, but he’s a demon,” said Dean. He could be lying. It was easy to lie in a letter.

Sam nodded. “He mentioned Lucifer.”

“And someone named Adam. Cas trusts him.” The last was doubtful.

“He’s also going behind Cas’s back,” Sam said, and that was kind of a compelling argument[3]. Still—

Dean flipped over the letter and grabbed a pen.

_God started destroying all the alternate universes,_ he wrote. Crowley deserved to know that, at least, because he was in an alternate world, demon or no. _Cas might be freaking out because he thinks you’re next. Looks like you have an apocalypse on your hands. Sorry dude. Word of advice: Lucifer lies. Deals with him never work out well. Who’s Adam?_

“Zephyr,” Dean murmured. He leaned his chair back on two legs and held up the letter. “Feresne Crowlei, amabo te?” It always helped to be polite to the winds, after all.

Zephyr liked to give them riddles, sometimes—usually in Latin; it was annoying—but luckily this time it didn’t. The letter was tugged gently out of his hands, and it vanished.

“What did you tell him?” Sam asked.

“Lucifer lies,” said Dean. “Also, that Chuck’s destroying alternate universes.”

_Crack!_

The next letter appeared on the table, steaming a little and smelling of sulfur. Sam poked it with the back of his fork. When nothing happened, Dean flipped it open.

_HE’S DESTROYING ALTERNATE UNIVERSES??? WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF INSANITY IS THAT???_

_ps our lucifer is different to your lucifer ask castiel._

“Huh,” said Dean.

Sam chuckled.

“What?”

“I mean,” Sam said, reading the letter upside down, “He’s not wrong.” He quirked a weird smile. “It is insanity. And, I mean, Cas does love him. That’s a point in his favor, right?”

As if on cue, from down the hall came a shout. “ _Dean what did you tell Crowley?_ ”

“Oh, now he joins us,” Dean drawled.

Cas stormed into the kitchen, a letter crumpled in his hand. “Dean. He is panicking. What did you tell him?”

“I told him that Chuck was destroying the alternate worlds. What do you think I told him? He has a right to know, Cas.”

Cas made a frustrated sound. “Yes, he does, but his world is more protected than ours. I have been—building him up to it,” he added, awkwardly.

“How do you build somebody up to the fact that their world’s going to explode?” Sam asked.

“Very carefully,” Cas gritted. He groaned. “Lucifer is going to panic too,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “About that.”

Cas groaned again. “Different Lucifer,” he said, “I was building you up to that too[4]. He’s very diff—”

Another letter. This one zoomed into the room and dropped on the floor. Cas picked it up and opened it, but Dean could see it. It was very short, and written in ornate, elegant script, different from before.

**CASTIEL COME BACK TO DAYDREAM WORLD AND EXPLAIN OR SO HELP ME I WILL SEND MAZIKEEN TO FETCH YOU. THERE WILL BE AN ESCORT WAITING IN THE EIGHTH CIRCLE.**

“What the Hell?” said Sam, expressing Dean’s thoughts perfectly.

“Crowley told Lucifer,” Cas said with a sigh. “Who is now also panicking. I should—go. Before Mazikeen shows up.”

“Um, I’m sorry, you listen to _Lucifer_ now?” Dean blurted. “Alternate Lucifer, whatever.” He had no idea who Mazikeen was, but it didn’t sound good.

Cas sighed again.

“Daydream Lucifer loves Earth,” he said. “He doesn’t lie, and he will go to great lengths to preserve the life of a single innocent human. All of Hell marched in protection of one living human at his command. I was there for it. He is nothing at all like our Lucifer. All they share is a name and an occupation.”

A whisper: yet another letter, this one deposited on Cas’s head. Cas opened it and spread it on the table, preemptively, so they could all read it. It was longer.

_Dearest Castiel,_

_I do hate to rush you, but our demons seem to be handling this news—poorly. I’ve called Chloe to tend to Lucifer. Belial is hiding in the bookshop and my sources tell me that Azazel is having another panic attack. Crowley is a snake, and he is in my jumper. Amenadiel has gone to fetch Michael and Raguel is nowhere to be found. Even Mazikeen seemed disturbed, though I could only tell so much from the background of Linda’s mobile, you understand. Please, dear, we need a full explanation before our demons tear themselves to pieces. They are very frightened. They lost the last war, after all. I am frightened also. Surely, She can’t be simply—destroying worlds willy-nilly?_

_We did prevent an apocalypse some years ago. Oh, dear, Castiel—Gabriel and Sandalphon would simply love an excuse to burn everything. Please, you must give us the full story so we can plan accordingly. Must we go to war, Pigeon? Have I cast my lot with Hell? What of our humans and our planet?_

_Please hurry,_

_Aziraphale_

“I’m sorry, did he just say that Azazel is having a _panic attack?_ ” Dean blurted.

“Dean,” hissed Sam. “Not the point.”

“He has a red blankie,” Castiel said gravely. “He hides under it.”

“No.”

Castiel shrugged.

“No,” Dean said again, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Cas smirked back to him, like he would very much like to laugh. It was a good look for him. He cleared his throat. “I should go,” he said. “They’re frightened. They’re my friends. I—I have to help them.”

“Can we come?” Sam asked.

“You have to stay with Jack,” Cas said.

“I’ll go with you,” said Dean, firm. “Sammy will stay with Jack.”

Cas shook his head. “A living human can’t pass through their Hell without a special spell. It requires two seraphs—”

“Then find another seraph,” said Dean, crossing his arms.

Cas scowled at him, but otherwise didn't argue.

He took Lucifer’s letter, flipped it over, and wrote a quick missive. Zephyr took it, thankfully without bothering to ask another stupid riddle[5], and the reply was immediate.

**I will meet you in Circle 8. You cast; I carry. We’ll fly out through the door in Circle 1. I know the way.**

Cas showed the letter to Dean. “Do you know what this means?” he asked gravely.

“Uh, we have to go through Hell for some reason?” Dean asked, not knowing what it meant.

“It means you will be entrusting your sanity to Lucifer Morningstar,” Cas said, firm. “If he stops singing for a moment, you will go mad.”

Well. That didn’t sound good. It also didn’t sound like Hell. “Okay,” Dean said slowly, “but why?”

“The rules in Daydream World are different than they are here,” Cas said, though more gently. “Living humans can’t walk through their Hell without going mad. And we have to go through our Hell, because that’s where the portal is, and then to their Hell and their Earth. Apparently, there’s a door in the First Circle.”

Dean was starting to regret his life choices. “And you trust him?” he asked.

“In this instance? Yes. And we must go quickly.” He turned to Sam. “We need a portal.”

“This is a really bad idea, guys,” Sam said.

“I will go whether you participate or not,” Cas said flatly. “They are not equipped for something of this magnitude, which is why I was _building them up to it._ Besides.” He stood up straighter. “You do things for Angel Network.”

Dean gave him a weird look. “What?”

“You do things for Angel Network. When they ask for your help, you help. That’s the point, Dean. You’ll see.” He sounded very confident in this. Dean was regretting his life choices even more now.

“Yeah, whatever,” he sighed. “Bring on the ritual.”

Sammy wasn’t happy about it, and neither was Dean, but he did the ritual to get them to Hell. Castiel marched through the door like a soldier off to war.

“Send a letter when you need me to open it again,” Sam said. He was closing the door behind them, because Cas didn’t know how long they’d be gone.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Take care of the kid?”

“Yeah. Take care of yourselves,” said Sam, worried.

Dean nodded, and he marched after Cas, through the portal.

____________

[1] Sam, on the other hand, had a healthy correspondence with Aziraphale, and always kept an eye (and a nose) out for cocoa, which Aziraphale sometimes sent over when he thought Sam needed comforting. Letters from Daydream World were not so unusual for him. 

[2] He sometimes put footnotes into Aziraphale’s letters. They were usually funny. He liked to doodle snakes in the corners, too. Honestly, Dean really should know their names by now.

[3] Funny or not, a demon was a demon was a demon, at the end of the day. Betrayal wasn’t a matter of _if_ but _when_ , even if Aziraphale really did seem to dote on this one. 

[4] Sam kind of inferred that when Cas said, “building you up,” he actually meant, “Putting It Off.”

[5] Zephyr was rather disappointed about this, but it could tell that now was not the time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I got excited, guys. Have another chapter.

Beyond the portal, Hell was dark and horrible as always. It made something in Dean clench with carefully suppressed trauma. They’d emerged on a narrow pathway lined with twisted, dark stone. It was very hot and very claustrophobic and somewhere, someone was screaming. When Cas touched his arm, just on the other side of the portal, he jumped.

“I’m going to fly us to the tear,” Cas said. He looked concerned, like Dean’s hatred of this place was all over his face. It probably was.

Ugh. Why. “Fine,” Dean muttered. He shut his eyes, because it was better that way. “Just do it.”

Angel Air was _the actual worst._ Dean’s stomach swooped and churned like Cas had thrown him into a washing machine, and then they landed with a hard thump. Cautiously, Dean opened his eyes.

They were in some weird back corner of Hell, all stone and uncomfortably large glowing things. Lichen? Whatever. Misery radiated around them, because of course it did; it was Hell. Dead in front of them was a crack in reality, but it was unlike the any of the ones Dean had seen before. This one was darker than dark and it kind of hurt to look at. It twisted in the air in a weird kind of spiral with offshoots, cracks of darkness reaching out. That probably didn’t bode well.

“Lucifer,” Cas hissed. Dean looked around, alarmed; at first, he thought Cas had seen him.

But it turned out no, because a voice replied through the crack. “About _bloody_ time!” it snapped, inexplicably British. What was it with the British demons?

“Crowley?” asked Cas, confused. The Fallen Angel Crowley pronounced his name differently than the King of Hell Crowley had, thankfully. It made it less confusing.

“Yes, of course it’s _me_. Did you really think I was just going to let you show up here and make a fool of yourself? Besides, nobody lets Lucifer out in the open in the Eighth Circle by himself, the lucky bastard. Too many monsters. Belial! Go fetch the king! Castiel’s here! I’ll have you know,” he added, back to Cas apparently, “that Azazel is currently hiding somewhere in the Fourth Circle. This is his second breakdown this millennia. Apparently, this is a record. I’m blaming you, Pigeon.”

“I was not the one who traumatized him, Crowley,” Castiel hissed to the crack. “That was not me.”

What the hell? Dean eyed Cas, surprised. That sounded like—banter? Since when did Cas banter? Since when did Cas know _how_ to banter with people who weren’t Sam and Dean?

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t believe you,” said the voice of the demon Crowley.

“Pigeon?” Dean croaked, the only thing he could grasp on to. “They call you _Pigeon_?” That had been in Aziraphale’s letter, come to think of it. He hadn’t made the connection.

“Something to do with my wings,” Cas muttered. He was embarrassed! That—was actually kind of glorious.

“ _Pigeon_ , seriously?” Dean said, starting to smile. Honestly, that was adorable, and since Cas was an honorary Winchester it was practically Dean's duty to never let him live this down. 

“Leave him alone, dirtbag,” Crowley’s voice snapped. “You have a lot of winning over to do before you get to make fun of Castiel.”

“What?” blurted Dean, utterly thrown. Dirtbag? Cas was his best friend! He was family! Dean was definitely allowed to tease Cas! Who the Hell did this guy think he was? “Is this guy serious?” he asked Cas.

Cas opened his mouth to explain, but another voice broke in, also British. “Castiel,” it said.

“Lucifer,” Castiel replied. Dean felt his spine go tense, his fists clench. He didn’t trust _any_ version of Lucifer, no matter what Cas said. This whole _entrusting his sanity_ thing didn’t sit well with him, but he was bound and determined to follow Cas into this Daydream World mess. 

“Cast the spell; we haven’t time for this,” said the voice of this other Lucifer. “Unless you want to leave Dean Winchester to rot?” The last was hopeful. “Azazel would love to chew on him. It might even break him out of his funk.”

“ _What_?” Dean blurted again. “I thought you trusted this guy? Cas?”

Lucifer’s voice sniffed. “Uninspired nickname. Cast the spell, Pigeon.”

Cas rolled his eyes. He definitely did not seem appropriately alarmed. “Don’t antagonize him,” he said, but Dean wasn’t sure who he was talking to. He snapped his finger.

Small red sparks rose up softly above his hand. An arm reached through the creepy black crack in reality and groped around before grasping one of the sparks; a surprisingly beautiful tenor accompanied it in Enochian. It was strange Enochian, Dean thought – the shape of it was familiar, but the sound just a little—off, from what he knew. A little more twittery, like a bird.

“They have a different accent,” Cas murmured, as if reading his mind. He must have had a weird look on his face. “Come on.”

“Huh,” said Dean, and followed him through the hole.

On the other side, Dean’s boots sank into muck, and a really, really foul stench made him gag. The place smelled like an eight-day old carcass after a rainstorm on day three, with a heaping helping of literal shit on top. It was much brighter, too, for a given value of bright. He was standing on a huge mudflat, instead of amongst craggy stones. The light was reddish and dull, but no longer blocked or distorted.

Cas stepped up to his side. He rolled his shoulders, and to Dean’s absolute shock, two huge freaking wings unfurled from his back.

“Uh,” said Dean. It wasn’t like he didn’t know Cas had wings. He’d seen their shadows. But knowing and seeing the real deal were two very different things. Dean tried not to gape. Folded, they reached down to Cas’s calves. They were brown but patterned in the red light of Hell. Under Dean’s gaze, they shifted, alive, and he met Cas’s eyes.

“The rules are different here,” Cas told him, quirking a smile that was almost—shy.

“About _bleeding_ time!” The voice was familiar: the demon Crowley dashed up to them. He was—not what Dean expected.

He was neither especially tall nor especially short. Crowley was thin, almost sleek, wearing dark dress pants and a red button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was black and artfully tousled, and his expression anxious. He looked, in a word, like a douchebag, though a worried one. His eyes though—

Dean took a step back.

“You never said he was a prince of Hell,” Dean hissed at Cas, watching those yellow eyes warily.

“He’s not,” said Castiel. “The rules are different here. Very different. It’s a coincidence. He’s a snake at heart, Dean, that’s all[1].”

“Hmph,” said Crowley, who had clearly heard this exchange. He stalked right up to Cas. Dean tensed, but it turned out he didn’t need to; Crowley threw his arms around Cas’s shoulders, and then curled dark, feathered wings around him, too. A hug. An experienced hug from someone who knew how to hug, and how to hug with wings. Cas returned it, awkwardly, like he always did with hugs. Why did this demon know how to hug better than Cas did?

Weird.

“Alright?” Crowley asked Cas gruffly, pulling back and folding his wings.

Then Cas did something odd. He pulled one of his actual-factual wings forward. They were patterned like a falcon or something, Dean realized, as Cas stretched one of them. They were actually pretty kickass. He brushed his feathers against Crowley’s side, careful and deliberate. Dean didn’t really understand the gesture; it was entirely foreign. It must have been an angel thing. Weird that there were still things about Cas that he didn’t know. “I’m fine,” Cas said. “You’re panicking.”

“We’re all panicking,” gritted Crowley. “And we need to get up top before Lucifer drops the song and just starts yelling at you anyway, right boss?”

Lucifer. Dean should have clocked his location right away, but he'd been distracted by all the wings and the hugging, so wildly out of character from a demon. Now, he turned to him.

He was wearing a tall man with perfect five-o-clock shadow and dark eyes. The man wore a suit that screamed _douchebag_ harder than Crowley’s entire outfit did. He looked like a goddamned club owner, or a high-class pimp. This was, admittedly, a very different look than the Lucifer of their world. Dean wasn’t exactly reassured, but it was – well – something to see so clearly that this one was different. He sang beautifully, though he scowled at Cas through it.

Beside Lucifer was another angel, olive skinned, with orange wings. He was fidgeting with something that looked weirdly like a tootsie-pop wrapper. He said nothing, but he was looking at Crowley like he was expecting orders.

Cas sighed. “Let’s go, then. Dean, I’m going to need to carry you again.”

Dean muttered unhappily, but he allowed it. Except—this time was different. Cas kind of cocked his head and looked Dean up and down thoughtfully.

“Crowley,” he said slowly, “How do I--?”

“What, bridal style not good enough for you?” Crowley snarked.

“Woah,” spluttered Dean, “What? Cas, you’ve carried me before.”

“It’s different here,” Cas said. “You won’t like---bridal style.”

“I definitely will not,” Dean snapped. He had _some_ dignity!

Cas looked at Crowley.

“Satan help me,” muttered Crowley. 

On the other side, still singing, the Devil shook his head emphatically in a clear _don’t look at me, buddy._ The orange winged guy next to him had a wide-eyed, moronic look on his face[2]. These two things together were almost funny, except that Dean was in Hell surrounded by the loosest definition of _people_ possible. The only one he trusted was Cas, anyway. At least Cas didn’t seem alarmed. 

“Under arms?” Crowley suggested.

Which was how Dean ended up with Cas grabbing him from behind. Arms like steel bands wrapped around his chest and under his arms. Dean tried and mostly succeeded not to scream at each beat of those evil, terrible, and not beautiful at all brown wings because he could _feel it,_ how Cas rose and fell in the air a little with each sweep. The wind howled around them, hot and sulfurous and ahead of them—

\--it didn’t bear thinking about. There were, like, _disks_ sticking up in the sky, and it totally hurt to look at. They crossed over onto a disk and the whole world reoriented itself and Dean wanted to vomit. There was shrill screaming and song, not just Lucifer’s, but then there was another disk and they were over a city, and then a marsh and then mountains and on and on and Dean just shut his eyes and worked on not shitting his pants. Dimly, he noted that the guy with the orange wings flew off as if ordered elsewhere, but only dimly. This was way worse than flying at home.

It wasn’t short, either. It felt like it lasted hours[3] before the sulfur in Dean’s face cooled, and the air went fresh, and the light brightened. He felt it when they soared up through air, up through a Hellgate; they were on Earth again. Somewhere down the line, Lucifer stopped singing, once the sky had turned earth-blue and not Hell-red.

Dean opened his eyes and got a horrifying glimpse of land far down below, a cracked sign that said _Sunnyvale **[4]** _and then the vertigo seized him again and he shut his eyes tight. The wind, blessedly free of sulfur, ruffled his hair. Cas beat his wings again so they bobbed in the air, and he really had to focus on not hurling.

It went on, and on, and on.

And then they landed on hard ground, finally, and Dean reeled to hurl at last.

“Oh, seriously!” spluttered a voice that Dean tried to block out as he spewed a good portion of his guts and possibly half a lung. So much for the sausage. “I just had this cleaned!”

“Pigeon, did you break him?” said a second voice that Dean also tried to block out.

“No,” said Cas, sounding concerned, “Dean does not like flying.”

“My humans like flying,” said that first voice, defensively.

“Your humans are not Dean,” said Cas. A cool hand rested on his back.

“Uh—wait—” said that second voice, the one that Dean suspected was Crowley. “Pidge, healing works differently here. Will you let me do it?”

“I’m fine,” growled Dean, “just give me a minute.”

“Why?” said Lucifer, and he sounded genuinely confused. “Why suffer through it, when we can just fix it? It can’t be pleasant.”

Dean didn’t know how to explain it, how to explain that he was strong enough to endure something as stupid as this, of course he was. It sucked the big one, but he was going to live. Besides, that was _Lucifer_ , alternate or not. He didn’t owe him an explanation anyway. What he said was, “There’s always a catch[5]. Now back off.”

“Not here,” Cas said urgently, and he rubbed Dean’s back. It felt surprisingly not horrible, and it was more affectionate than Cas had been back home. Weird. “Not with Crowley. There’s never a catch, with Crowley[6].”

“Demon,” Dean gritted around another wave of nausea. “ _Yellow eyed demon._ ”

“Oh, not that again,” muttered Crowley from somewhere.

“Different world,” Cas said. “Different rules. Trust me, if not him. Let him heal you. I promise he won’t hurt you.”

Dean gagged again. Fuck it. “Fine,” he rasped.

“Yeah, we’re just gonna teach you how to do it, Pidge,” said Crowley, coming nearer. Dean tensed and coughed around the nausea. He didn’t like the demon so close when he was down. “I don’t know why this always falls to me[7], but—pluck a down feather? Easiest that way. There you go. Put it on his back, put your palm over it and—there you are, you’re a natural.”

Thankfully, it was Cas’s hand on his back, not some strange demon. The nausea curled up in a small ball in his stomach and then whispered away like so much smoke. Before his eyes, the vomit he’d up chucked onto the floor vanished, too. 

Cas patted his back. “Better?” he asked hopefully.

“Thanks,” Dean muttered. He straightened and turned.

Lucifer had gone inside. They were standing on this big balcony of an extremely swanky apartment. Cas had a wing half-extended again, and that demon was fustily fidgeting with his feathers. That was just—weird.

“Uh,” said Dean, looking at Crowley. “What are you--?”

“They’re a mess,” the demon said, and he actually sounded angry. What the Hell could he possibly be angry about? “He doesn’t fix his wings when he’s in your world for some reason. I suspect this reason is you.”

Dean blinked, surprised. He'd just vomited half of his internal organs, Cas had fixed it, and now this guy was pissed at him? What the hell?

“Crowley,” Cas chided.

“No, but I’m pretty sure it is,” the demon snapped. “Having humans isn’t supposed to preclude you actually taking care of yourself.”

Hold up, what?

“What do you mean he’s not taking care of himself?” Dean said, alarmed. He felt pulled in kind of two directions, here. In one, this demon was being a douche. In the other—what was that about Cas neglecting himself?

“Dean,” hissed Cas.

“Angels need things,” Crowley said, eyes like poison, fixed on Dean. “They need preening, they need faith – in something, doesn’t have to be Him Above because Him Above is a prat – but they need _something_. They need _friends_ or they go nuts.”

“I have friends,” Castiel said, bewildered.

“Friends who abandon you, so you show up on my doorstep with a broken heart and fraying feathers!” Crowley snarled, abruptly furious. He kept fiddling with Cas’s feathers, weirdly gentle despite his rising temper. “What the _fuck,_ Pigeon? You think Chloe treats Lucifer that way? Or that Abida did that to Aziraphale? Linda _talks_ to Amenadiel! Even Maze doesn’t behave that way and she’s one of the _Lilim_!” The last was an angry shout. “How _dare_ you, Dean Winchester?”

Dean had no idea what was happening, and it was pissing him off. “Dude, what the Hell? I thought we didn’t have time for—”

“We have time for me to give you a piece of my mind,” snapped Crowley. “You’ve been treating my eyas like dirt and I am calling you out.” He smoothed down some of Cas’s feathers carefully. 

“Crowley,” sighed Cas.

“None of this _spurn me strike me **[8]**_ bullshit, Pigeon. You are not a spaniel!”

“What the Hell is an eyas?” Dean spluttered, grasping onto this with both hands.

Cas pinched his nose. “An angel who hasn’t left the nest. Crowley, we are the same age.”

“Yeah, well, your boy just met your nestmom and I am _pissed_ ,” snapped Crowley.

There were so many things wrong with that statement, Dean didn’t even know where to begin. What the fuck was a nestmom? Instead, the words that came out of his mouth were, “You’re mad that I hurt his _feelings_? Do you have any idea the sort of _bullshit_ we fight from day to day?”

“I’m mad that he was _dying,_ you great idiotic human!” thundered Crowley. “That’s what it means when an angel loses his faith! His feathers fray! He wastes away!”

“That’s an exaggeration, Crowley,” Cas said, though he sounded shocked. “We don’t die if we lose our feathers. We Fall, maybe. We lose our powers. But we don’t die.”

“A half life,” spat Crowley. “Like Raguel. I won’t stand for it, not for you, Pidge, not when all it takes is for some _idiot_ to say he’s sorry once in a while, and to not beat up on you when he’s angry.”

“He did apologize,” Cas said.

“Wait—wait—” said Dean, catching up. “ _Dying_? Cas, when were you dying?”

“Not death, not really—”

“Cas. When.”

“When Jack died,” Cas scowled, finally. “I came here when I left.”

“And he was _not okay,_ ” snapped Crowley. “Where were _you_?”

“Also not okay!” Dean shouted, finally angry, angry enough to blurt the truth. “My damned kid lost his soul! He killed my _mom!_ And then he died! And _then,_ if that wasn’t fucked up enough, _God admitted to dicking me around my whole life!_ ”

Silence.

“You both need to talk to Linda,” Crowley said, finally[9]. “You’re on thin ice, Dean Winchester.” He turned on his heel and stormed into the apartment. 

“What the Hell man?” Dean sputtered to Cas.

Cas puffed out a breath. “Crowley is… Protective.”

“He’s a nutjob!” Dean spluttered. “I didn’t almost _kill_ you. Right? Cas?”

Cas shifted his feet. The wings on his back twitched, like that was a nervous habit, like Dean was going to have to learn body language for an extra set of limbs. “Not dead,” he managed, looking away. “But Crowley is—right. A life without wings and feathers is a sort of half-life, for an angel[10].”

Cas had said that he was losing his powers, Dean recalled. The world had gone so dark and bleak that he had only thought viciously that Cas deserved it, heaping the blame for everything on Cas’s shoulders. He had kind of been a dick. “But you’re alright now?” he asked, worried, and for lack of anything better to say. 

“Yes, Dean. And you apologized.”

Dean nodded. “And you’re not—I mean, why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

Cas quirked a half smile. “It is difficult to preen alone,” he said. “I find it unpleasant. And in the other world my wings would blind you or Sam; I worry that the light through the door might hurt you, or that you might walk in.”

“Sock on the doorknob, dude,” said Dean.

“That indicates sex, Dean,” Cas sighed.

Dean grinned, because he’d got Cas to say sex. “Here’s different, though,” he said, slowly. “I mean.” He waved at Cas’s wings, because he could see them and stuff.

“Yes. Crowley or Aziraphale usually preens them, here.” He fidgeted them. “Based on his body language I believe that Lucifer might try, too. Truth be told I am—unsure how I feel about that.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply because he didn’t really know anything about that and also feelings, ugh, but furthermore Lucifer, ugh, but he was interrupted. A kid who looked to be about fourteen opened the door to the apartment. “Are you coming in, or what?” she asked. “Everyone’s waiting.”

\-------------------------

[1] Castiel didn’t bring up the Left Hand thing because it had nothing to do with Crowley’s appearance and also nothing to do with his personality. Right now, it would only worry Dean. Best to tell him later. 

[2] Humans had opinions about how they were carried? Belial always carried humans over his shoulders so he could hear them kicking and screaming, but he kind of thought that Castiel wouldn’t enjoy that.

[3] It was about 15 minutes.

[4] The sign had cracked some years ago and try as they might the city had been unable to fix it. Unbeknownst to them, in a few universes over where the rules changed _dramatically_ , their city was in fact called Sunny _d_ ale, and had been destroyed by the very Hellgate that Dean and Cas and the others flew through.

[5] Lucifer understood this to his bones. He backed off right away.

[6] A lump formed in Crowley’s throat. No, there wasn’t a catch with him, he promised silently, touched.

[7] Serpent, knowledge; teaching people was kind of his thing.

[8] Look, Crowley had picked up Midsummer Night’s Dream like two weeks ago in the bookshop and he’d re-read it. Sue him, but it was on the brain.

[9] What the shit even _was_ Nightmare World, honestly. That was so messed up!

[10] He’d been human, before. Or, well, he’d called it human. He’d been fairly sure he was human, with human weaknesses and foibles and tastes and feelings and everything. This was a half-life, for an angel, though he’d liked many aspects of it a great deal.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean blinked. “What?” he said intelligently. There was a kid? Where did a kid come from?

“Hello, Beatrice,” Castiel replied warmly. Apparently, he knew her, and that was another level of weird, somehow. “You’ve grown.”

“Uh-huh,” said the girl. “Maze says that if I were a Lesser Demon it would be time for me to bring back the head of a monster! Mom said no, but me’n Shepherd might get a hunting license next season, so at least I can bring Maze a head of _something_. But I think it might be a lot of blood and also, killing things.” She made a face.

Cas chuckled. “Killing things is very unpleasant,” he said.

“Liar,” Beatrice said. “You’ve got an angel-killing blade, and everyone knows you’re the deadliest of everyone here. Maze is guarding the entrance from Lux, so she's downstairs.” She smiled at him and she said this very sweetly. Dean boggled at her.

“Cas, this is weird,” he said.

Cas chuckled. “Very weird,” he said. “Come on, I’m sure Angel Network is anxious to meet you.”

Together, they followed Beatrice inside.

And Cas was immediately mobbed by a man in a tweedy, old-looking jacket, with blonde hair and great, off-white wings.

“Castiel!” gasped the strange angel. “You made it!”

“Yes, hello, Aziraphale,” Cas said, very warmly, accepting a hug. He even seemed pleased about it.

The famous Aziraphale, Dean realized, and he gave the angel another once-over. Cas talked about this one a lot. He talked about Crowley often, too, enough that Dean had definitely known who he was—though the eyes were a surprise—but Cas talked about Aziraphale more. Aziraphale liked books and was good at research; he missed him most on research days, which frankly were a lot of days. Even Sam corresponded with Aziraphale and smiled frequently at his letters. Dean had been told that Aziraphale was good and kind and gentle, and had been tortured by Naomi.

He had fair blonde hair and blue, blue eyes. His breathless words were intelligent and somehow more English-accented than Crowley’s had been, and he also had the mannerisms of an extremely gay human. This would normally make Dean nervous, and it did make Dean a little nervous[1]. But this angel was fussing at Cas very kindly, and Dean liked anyone who treated Cas well.

It occurred to him, when Crowley caught his eye and glared from one of the sleek armchairs in the room, that none of these people thought _Dean_ had treated Cas well. That maybe Dean _hadn’t_ treated him well. It made anxiety knot inside of him.

There were a bunch of other people in the room, too, Dean realized, scanning. Lucifer was talking to the girl—Beatrice—in a low voice, and two others, a black man and a dude in overalls, both with wings, sat backwards on two chairs. They were watching him curiously, especially overalls-guy. There was some kind of smell in the room, too. Baking?

“You must be Dean.” A blonde woman strolled up to him, looking curious. She was gorgeous too, slim and confident and hot damn the body on her. He really hoped she wasn’t an angel.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me. Who’re you?” Pie, Dean realized in some corner of his mind. The room smelled like pie.

She held out a hand. “I’m Chloe Decker,” she said, and gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “I guess in this crowd I should also say that I’m human.”

Dean smiled, charmed. Thank god—someone human. Maybe she had baked pie for everyone? He shook her hand. “Probably. Good to see another human.” He furtively looked around but didn’t see any pie.

“I think we have a lot to talk about, Dean,” she said, but it wasn’t threatening like Crowley had been.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, feeling less charmed. This universe was so weird, man. And it didn’t look like there was any pie here at all. That was disappointing and kind of a cocktease. Pie-tease. What was with that smell?

“Crowley tells me that angels who spend a lot of time on Earth sort of—make friends. But one human is special.” She shrugged.

Cas had kind of expressed that too. “Okay,” he said, braced for this to go in an embarrassing direction.

“They talk about us like we belong to them, but really we know it’s the other way around.” Her smile went impish. “Anyway, Lucifer’s mine. Or I’m his. The special human, that is.”

Dean reeled back. “Wait, what? Cas!” he spluttered.

Cas turned from Aziraphale. “Dean?”

“What the Hell?” Dean spluttered. He waved a hand vaguely at Decker, unable to really articulate he was trying to ask. 

“What did I say?” asked Decker, bewildered, like saying she belonged to Lucifer was like, no big deal. _What was this place?_

“Likely something about Lucifer, I daresay,” said Aziraphale with a sigh. “Castiel wore much the same expression when we first told him about Lucifer, didn’t you, Pigeon?” He gave Dean the stink eye. What the Hell did he do now?

“Oh! Oh, no, I’m sorry,” Decker said. She grimaced, awkward. “Lucifer here isn’t like your Lucifer. I’m not doing this right,” she said, kind of to herself. “We have _lunches!_ ” she blurted. “Linda and I. Special-human-support-group. I wanted to invite you.”

“What?” blurted Dean. “Cas what _is_ this place?”

“Daydream World,” Cas said, and he was sort of smiling. “It’s Daydream World, Dean. Everything here went right.”

“The Hell?” Dean spluttered.

“At any rate,” Aziraphale said, a little more severely, “It is time you explain to us what is happening, Castiel. We’ve called everyone.”

“Except for Raguel,” said Lucifer, who had migrated with Beatrice to what was definitely a _bar_. It looked like a well-stocked bar, too, though it lacked any pie at all, despite smelling like a damned bakery. Beatrice hopped up on a stool next to him, drinking out of a juice box and she started petting one of his folded white wings idly, like fiddling with the seam on a sofa or a pillow[2]. Nobody seemed alarmed by this. She kicked her legs, perfectly at ease and not scared at all. Lucifer nudged her gently with that wing, and she scratched something that must have been itchy. “According to the note his dog delivered this morning," Lucifer continued scornfully, "he’s currently on a ship headed to the middle of the Pacific, because he got the order to _smite_ Chloe and Beatrice.” That wing flexed and curled around the girl protectively and he downed a glass of something golden. Whiskey?

Dean had no idea what this meant, but Cas seemed to. “He _what_?” he breathed, visibly horrified.

“Cas?” Dean asked.

“Raguel is the Vengeance of the Lord,” said the tall black angel sitting backwards on a chair. His great dark wings were folded neatly on his back, sleek and powerful looking, somehow. He looked directly at Dean, eyes bright and curious. “He is mostly powerless, these days, but when Father commands him to take Vengeance, he becomes the most powerful of us all. He ran away, rather than harm Chloe.” He smiled a little, as though proud. “You must understand, Dean Winchester, that for any of us that is a great act of defiance – for Raguel, it is a nearly impossible act of will. He has bought us time. But we must understand—why has our Father ordered Raguel to kill our humans? I would not ordinarily question an order but—our humans are beloved. I went back to Heaven and found no answer. It makes no _sense_.”

“Yeah, He’s not big on making sense,” Dean replied, dry as dust.

“This is different,” said the other angel. He had dark curly hair that fell almost to his shoulders, and he wore denim overalls. He was also sitting backwards in a chair and his wings were dusty white. “Generally, there’s a reason. I haven’t found one.” He was scratching the ear of a big dog, sitting by his side. There were another two, both small, hiding under his chair[3].

“I—don’t know you,” Cas said, frowning at overalls-guy.

“Michael Taxiarch.” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief. He didn’t rise but he leaned forward conspiratorially. “Means ‘brigadier,’” he said, like he was sharing a secret[4]. 

“I’m sorry, the archangel _Michael?_ ” blurted Dean, who knew enough about Michael after all that research for that first apocalypse, and then everything that came after, to fill a book. He even knew what _Taxiarch_ meant. It meant that this guy was a major douchebag.

It also meant that Dean was his vessel. He met this angel’s eyes head on, a challenge, and they looked back at him, calm and amused, like he had the best secret ever[5]. Dean despised him.

Dean looked at him harder. He inhaled. Something—

“It’s coming from me, yes,” Michael said, low and conspiratorial. “Whatever you’re smelling. It’s me.” He smiled sweetly[6].

What. No. No way. He smelled like pie. Really good pie. He was stinking up the room! What the Hell! What angel smelled like _pie_? Dean shot an alarmed glare at Cas.

Cas was glaring at Michael suspiciously[7], so that was something, at least.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “That smell trick is _cheating_. Also, don’t call him an archangel to his face, it’ll go to his head, and it’s fat enough.”

“Lucifer,” Decker chided, and strolled over to sit beside him. It was weird: he didn’t curl an arm around her, but he did curl his other wing around her. It was—a weirdly cuddly gesture from freaking _Lucifer_. Even alternate universe, bizarre Lucifer with wings. The kid kicked her legs again, smiling around the straw of her juicebox.

“And—you’re in the same room,” Dean said faintly. Pie-smelling Michael and Lucifer snuggling a beautiful woman and her daughter. What the Hell was this world, man. 

“We have a truce,” said Michael, still patting the dog beside his chair. Looked like some kind of pit bull. “We both like the world.”

They _liked the world?_ “I want to trade,” Dean told Cas fiercely.

Cas chuckled. “Me too,” he said. “This Lucifer is much preferable.”

Lucifer hugged his girlfriend and Beatrice closer and fluffed his feathers proudly. What even.

“It’ll go to his head,” Michael drawled.

“Anyway,” said Aziraphale, sitting on the arm of a chair occupied by Crowley. Cas always said that those two were attached at the hip, but it was weird actually seeing them together, visibly opposites in every way, and even more visibly together. “Castiel, do you know anything about why Him Above might order Raguel to do such a thing?” He paused. “Or you, Dean. What is happening in your world? What is this about the other universes collapsing?”

“Dad collapsing them, you mean,” Lucifer scowled.

“We don’t know that,” said the black angel.

“Yeah, we do,” said Dean. “He’s pissed because I’m not cooperating in his cute little story.”

“Impossible,” said Michael. “Father has always had his whims, but this is—cruel—”

“Wake up and smell the whiskey, brother,” spat Lucifer, “He’s always been cruel!”

“Stop!” This was Crowley. “You’ll upset—literally all the angels, okay, boss, not worth it. Castiel, why is Him Above destroying the alternate universes? There must be a story there. A reason.”

Cas shook his head. “Not a good one,” he said. “We know he is—destroying the other worlds. All of them, but ours.” He looked at Dean.

“He’s pissed because I won’t kill my brother,” Dean said.

“And that is—worth letting every other universe die?” the black angel asked, pained. It was not accusatory. It was sad.

Dean didn’t really have a good answer to that. The honest answer was that he didn’t give a damn about alternate universes. He cared about Sammy. This was probably selfish, but it was the truth.

“No,” said Michael, but he sounded uncertain. The dog next to him whined.

“Yes,” snapped Lucifer. “We don’t bargain with terrorists. Winchester isn’t the one killing worlds. It’s Dad.”

Oddly enough, that was kind of reassuring. Too bad it came from freaking _Lucifer_.

This was just. It was too weird for words. Dean glanced at Cas, but Cas didn’t seem phased at all. If anything, he seemed relieved. Relieved about what? That _Lucifer_ of all people was defending them?

What even. Dean gave up trying to understand. Daydream World, man. Totally insane. 

\----------

[1] Dean mostly had a ‘you do you’ attitude. But his dad had instilled some serious crap deep in him about being a sissy or gay that Dean didn’t like to look at too closely. He’d never pulled the poison out of himself. Mostly he tried to ignore it instead, because he knew it was crap, but it still made some things awkward, at least at the start.

[2] This was an angel thing, Trixie knew. Lucifer spluttered and made a fuss, but he liked it when you pulled on his feathers. Not enough to hurt, of course, just as like a fidgeting thing. Crowley and Aziraphale liked it, too. Trixie had gone to a cave on a field trip, once, and she’d seen a bunch of bats all clustered together at the roof of it, jostling and snuggling. She thought it was kind of like that—a friendly thing, a _we’re hanging out together_ thing. Lucifer didn’t thrum like he did with a full preening, but he did get a little cuddlier. It was nice.

[3] Of course, Lucifer had taken in Raguel’s dogs for now; he’d only just left that night. And of course, they liked Michael better, the traitors. They were shy creatures, beaten down. Apparently Raguel liked the sad ones. There were two more hiding in his bedroom. Lucifer would find homes for them. Bloody Angel Network.

Shepherd, of course, was guarding the entrance to the lift in Lux, because she was a good dog, while Maze stalked through the club, looking for intruders. 

[4] Angels didn’t have last names. They had epithets. You could sort of pick and choose with epithets. Michael liked Taxiarch. It had an x in it.

[5] There was something interesting about this one, Michael thought, intrigued, as he watched those eyes. A pull, like this human could be his as Chloe was Lucifer’s, if he played his cards right. He would obviously have to share with that Castiel. That bond was precious, and nigh unbreakable. Where Lucifer’s gift was desire, Michael’s was passion, and he could see that in this human’s posture. His past was murky, and also terribly sad, Michael could tell. Dean Winchester had the weight of great, terrible tragedies, one after another, heavy on his shoulders. He looked like he needed cheering or comforting. Mostly comforting. That could be a fun project. For Michael, comforting usually involved sex. He wondered if Castiel would let him get that close. Probably not. Still, could be fun to try.

[6] Michael smelled like whatever a human liked best. Chloe Decker and her bloodline, of course, were immune, but according to a certain Dorothy Winters, the smell got stronger when he was in heat. Dean was a little immune too - Michael had a similar effect on most humans as Lucifer, and Dean wasn't thrown in the throes of passion or a little hypnotized like a regular human might be. Still, he could definitely smell it. Michael was very intrigued by this Dean, after all.

[7] And not a little possessively. Dean was his human! Castiel was capable of sharing but not with Michael!

Michael thought this was cute.


	4. Chapter 4

“But,” Crowley was saying slowly, “If Him Above is destroying the alternate universes, what about _this_ universe? Why hasn’t he destroyed us?”

“My dear!” gasped Aziraphale. Crowley took his hand but otherwise said nothing. He looked directly at Dean, instead.

“He’ll try,” said Dean. “Billie—that’s Death—said he was ganking everyone. That he was almost done.”

“Oh,” said the black angel, clearly realizing something.

“What?” asked Lucifer.

“Oh, no,” said the black angel.

“What is it, Amenadiel?” asked Aziraphale.

“But it’s impossible,” the black angel, apparently called Amenadiel, said. “Ridiculous. Surely not.”

“What is?” Cas asked.

“He’s destroying universes,” Amenadiel said, and he sounded sick, “We know he hasn’t touched this one. His order was to destroy Chloe and her bloodline instead.”

“You think there is a connection,” Lucifer said, and he also sounded sick. He curled his wing closer around Chloe Decker, who put a hand up to her mouth. 

“It was a great miracle I carried that day,” Amenadiel said. Dean had no idea what the Hell he was talking about. “It was not my miracle. I carried one of Father’s.”

Dean still had no idea what he was talking about. He looked to Cas, but Cas only shrugged at him.

“You think—” this was Decker. She swallowed. “You think I’m somehow connected to—to the universe? That God—God!—wants to _kill_ me? That’s—that’s too much, Amenadiel.”

“It’s only a theory, Chloe,” Amenadiel said apologetically. “But with Castiel’s information, on top of what we already know from Raguel—there might be some connection. You might be the reason our world still stands.”

Lucifer made a noise like an angry swan[1]. “Well, he can’t have her,” he snarled.

“He can’t have the _world,_ ” Crowley snapped. Beside him, Aziraphale made an upset sound. “Oh, _angel_ ,” he added unhappily. “I’m sorry. We knew He was a bastard, Aziraphale, we knew it. Even you knew it. You must have.”

“Now is not a time to mourn.” This was Michael, but he didn’t look—good. He was kind of green around the gills, like talk of Chuck being a bastard was making him nauseous. He’d stopped petting the dog. “Now is the time to prepare. If this is true, and we don’t know that yet, then we have to protect Chloe Decker and her daughter—her bloodline—at all costs. If it is not true, she still needs protection from Raguel if nothing else. His defiance cannot last forever.”

“On that, we agree,” Lucifer muttered. 

“Castiel, we will need more information from you,” Michael added, dark eyes fixed on Cas. “But later. First, we must find a safe place for Chloe and Beatrice. A paradox. A strong one.”

“Will that work?” Aziraphale asked softly.

“Yes,” said Michael. “But we need more than just you.” He looked around the room. Dean had no idea what the Hell he was talking about. And what was with all the dogs?

“Cas,” he hissed. “What is he talking about?”

“I’m not sure,” muttered Cas.

“You, too,” Michael said, looking dead at Cas. “You should cast one, too.”

“I can’t cast a paradox,” said Cas, sounding alarmed.

“Yes, you can,” said Michael. “Your human is standing beside you. Don’t you see? An angel and a demon, a human and a devil—and an angel and a human. It will be nigh unbreakable.”

Cas—well, Cas actually _flushed._ His cheeks went all red; that was adorable. What the Hell were they even talking about? “Michael. It is not—we are not—”

“Liar,” said Michael. “I think I could do it, too, but you’d have to let me within ten feet of Dean Winchester.” He said Dean’s name with a weird relish[2].

Dean had no idea what they were talking about, but he was not a fan.

“Absolutely not,” Cas snapped, cutting off Dean’s “Hell no!” before Dean could really get more than a few sounds out. At least they were on the same page there. “Amenadiel,” Cas added, weirdly desperate. 

“We can try,” Amenadiel said. He shrugged. “Linda and I have tried. We can produce one. I am unsure how I feel about it, however; it is not one of my Father’s creations, and it does not follow His laws. And sometimes, Linda dislikes it[3]. It’s not the kind of thing you can force.”

“Alright,” said Aziraphale, rising from the arm of the chair. “As you say, it’s not the kind of thing you can force. I will happily paradox any sort of place you like, and I’m sure you will too, Lucifer. Castiel, Dean, you may do it or not in your own time.”

“I have no idea what any of you are talking about,” Dean grumbled.

“I’ll explain later,” Cas muttered. He sounded embarrassed.

Lucifer hooted. “Oh, you’re in for a treat!”

“Shut up, Lucifer,” Cas muttered.

“Can I come?” Lucifer leered.

“Absolutely not,” Cas said, horrified.

“Stop,” said Decker, tugging lightly on Lucifer’s feathers. “That’s enough. I want to—” she swallowed. “So, what’s this going to look like? Some kind of—of safehouse? Can I still work?”

Lucifer made a weird sound, something low and deep in his chest. In was very soft and decidedly not human. Cas never made sounds like that. Dean eyed him, curious. “Darling,” Lucifer was saying quietly, “If it’s not safe—”

“But for how long, Lucifer?” she demanded. “If I can’t work, how long? Trixie has to go to school, and I can’t just—you can’t just put us somewhere safe and wait for it to pass! What if it never passes?”

“It won’t,” said Dean darkly. “Not until we stop Chuck.”

Lucifer huffed[4]. “That did not go very well, the last time I tried it.”

Dean shrugged. “I’ve fought some big nasties,” he said. “And I’ve won. I killed _you_. In our world, I mean.”

“Did you?” asked Lucifer, and he sounded more curious than threatened[5]. “How?”

“With him.” Dean jerked a thumb at Michael, who blinked at him placidly. “We’ll think of something. We always do.”

“Here’s something you’re not understanding,” said Lucifer, eyes narrowed. “I know about your body count, Dean Winchester.”

“Lucifer,” Cas warned, almost a growl. Lucifer ignored him.

“I know how many of your so-called friends die. And that’s your world. But in _this_ world, every one of our humans is precious.” He smiled with all his teeth. “I will not tolerate any deaths. Do you understand me?”

Next to him, Cas’s feathers fluffed indignantly. Some part of Dean thought that was hilarious. Another part thought it was incredibly weird that Lucifer of all people was demanding that Dean _not_ kill people. Even for an alternate Lucifer, it was bizarre. But Dean actually agreed with this sentiment. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too. No deaths.”

Lucifer sat back, satisfied.

“Well, that’s settled,” said Aziraphale, who had slipped up to Cas’ other side.

“How is that settled?” Decker spluttered[6].

“You have two paradoxes, as least,” Aziraphale said lightly. “We can build you a safe house now. If we can find a way for you to work as well, Chloe, we shall, but for now the most important thing is to get you safe. Lucifer, will you stay with her?”

“Of course,” Lucifer said gruffly. “I can station Lesser Demons all up and down the block, too. We’ll bring Shepherd, and I’m sure I can find a few Hounds on the smaller side to guard the front yard. I have just the place. I’d station Azazel there too, but he’s—indisposed.” Lucifer sighed. “Also, I’d rather him not go for your human’s jugular, right, Pigeon?”

“That would be appreciated,” Cas said, firm.

“I can handle myself,” Dean said gruffly.

“Yes, but we try not to kill Greater Demons here,” Cas said.

“Uh,” said Dean, who had no idea what a Greater Demon was, but it sounded bad, “Why?”

“Because it’s not as black and white here as it is there,” said Crowley sharply. “Greater Demons are forbidden to kill humans directly. But Azazel holds a grudge and there’s ways around that decree[7], so let’s not tempt him.”

“The Hell?” Dean asked Cas.

“Daydream World,” Cas said, amused, like this explained it. It kind of did.

“Daydream World,” Dean echoed faintly. They were actively avoiding a fight. Even Lucifer was avoiding a fight. How was this place so nice? “Why did we never come here before?”

“We can start visiting,” Cas told him, still amused.

“You certainly can,” said Aziraphale. “Now, while Lucifer is arranging for a safe house for Chloe and Beatrice, we’ll need one for both of you, as well. You are, of course, welcome to stay with us; we’re staying in the Sunset House. Crowley bought it from Lucifer last year.”

Cas was nodding before Dean could put in a word edgewise. “Of course. Thank you, Aziraphale.”

“Always,” Aziraphale said, and he smoothed down some of Cas’s feathers affectionately. “And while we’re at it we can get these sorted, hmm?” He patted Cas’s wing.

“Yes, please,” said Cas, hoarse but earnest. Dean frowned. What was that about Cas' wings?

“We’ll station a guard,” Michael added softly. “I’ll be in the area. I have—made an executive decision regarding Sandalphon’s Earth Visits; namely, that he should not have them.” He tapped the dog’s head playfully. It nipped at him.

Crowley barked a laugh, and Amenadiel groaned, “Michael.”

“He’s a prat and you know it,” Lucifer told Amenadiel, amused.

“Sandalphon destroyed Gomorrah,” Aziraphale told Dean and Cas in an undertone.

“Shit,” said Dean.

“Good riddance,” agreed Cas.

“What about Gabriel?” Crowley asked. Gabriel?

“I can’t stop him,” Michael said, shaking his head. “He does as he pleases. I recommend you stay hidden from him, Chloe.”

“Gabriel?” murmured Dean.

“Different than in your world, I imagine,” Aziraphale tittered nervously. “He is—quite cruel, here.”

“Huh,” said Dean. “Thought everything was sunshine and roses here.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Aziraphale said. “We just happen to have more luck than you do, it seems.”

There were feathers at his side; Cas had nudged him with his wing, gently. Dean blinked, startled at the gesture, but he looked at Cas. “I can tell you the story of how our universes differ,” Cas told him in an undertone. “But it will take some time. It involves the angel Raguel, who isn’t here.”

“Alright!” said Lucifer, hopping off his stool. “I have a house that will be suitable for just this purpose. And I’m not telling any of you busy bodies where it is. Crowley, Aziraphale, I’ll give you a call when we’re ready. Pigeon, get your act together and boink your human so you can cast the paradox, will you?”

“WHAT?” Dean squawked. Cas buried his face in his hands like a teenage girl.

“Oh, lay off him, you prat,” Crowley said casually. “Relax, no boinking necessary. He’s yanking your chain[8]. Though m’lady doth protest too much, methinks.” He grinned like he’d said something extremely clever. Dean wanted to deck him, but he got the feeling that Cas would not approve.

“I hate you,” Cas said to his palms.

“Nah,” said Crowley, playful. “You love us. We’re your favorite. We’re taking you to the Sunset House, and we’re going to feed you good food and better wine, and you’re going to forget all about this.”

Cas perked up.

“You don’t eat,” Dean said, surprised.

“I eat here,” Cas said. “Different rules. I can taste here. It’s not all—molecules.” Dean tried not to be fond of that nose-scrunch, he really did. It didn’t go so well.

“Oh, dear me, no one taught you how to turn that off?” Aziraphale clucked.

“You can’t turn it off,” said Cas. “I never turned it on.”

“No, you just—oh for Whoever’s sake,” Crowley muttered. “It’s fine. We’ll fix it. Took me a while, too. Boss! We’re nicking Castiel and his human. Call when you need us.”

Lucifer waved them away.

“That was it?” Dean asked, following Cas to the balcony. “That was this important war-meeting?”

“Saving the lives of two humans? Yes, Dean, that was the important war-meeting,” Cas said, his voice warm. “Death happens—less, here. Human lives hold more meaning. And it is important for Amenadiel to know about Chuck.” He paused. “And Michael, I suppose.”

“They all needed to know,” Crowley said, strolling out onto the balcony. It was warm and sunny, and his step was not at all urgent. “Lucifer will stop freaking out when people stop trying to hurt Chloe; a paradox will help. This triple paradox thing sounds a bit far-fetched, though.”

“Michael has the gift of foresight,” Aziraphale said lightly. “He tends to be correct about these things.”

“Doesn’t make it less annoying,” Crowley muttered.

“Uh, yeah, okay, is someone gonna explain to me what the Hell a paradox is?” Dean burst out, finally.

“Union of two opposites,” Crowley said lightly. “Contradicts itself. You need one of one kind, and one of another, and you have to trust each other. That’s it. Aziraphale and I, we can do one. Lucifer and Chloe – Devil and human, in love instead of rage. Michael’s right, you and Pidge can probably do one too[9]. Takes a tight bond.” He shrugged. “They have all sorts of weird properties, paradoxes. It makes an excellent protection spell, though.”

Dean thought about this, about the mark of Cas’ hand that had once been on his arm. That was a tight bond. Cas had said so himself. Alright. That wasn’t so bad. He relaxed. “Weird properties?” he asked Cas.

Cas shrugged. He still looked embarrassed. “No one with ill intent can enter Aziraphale’s bookshop,” he said. “Linda’s house is similar, though I’m told it won’t show up on GPS maps.”

Crowley snickered. “That was a fun one,” he said. Aziraphale whacked him with his wing.

“Chloe’s house won’t permit imps to enter,” Aziraphale added. “Those are what you call demons, in Nightmare World.” He smiled at Dean. “And at Lucifer’s—only angels with special permission may go there.”

“I once saw Chloe and Lucifer trap Amenadiel, when he was under a spell,” Castiel said softly. “Frightfully powerful, to capture an angel like Amenadiel. He is the Eldest, in this world. It’s like trapping Michael in ours.”

“And you think we could do that?” Dean asked. That could definitely come in handy. He trusted Cas a whole Hell of a lot, after all.

“We could try,” Cas said, very soft. His eyes had gone a little round, like a deer who had spotted something incredible in the headlights. 

“How?” said Dean.

“Not here, and not while I’m watching you,” Crowley said loudly. “C’mon. Sunset House. We have to fly there.”

Dean’s stomach plummeted to his knees. “No way,” he said. “Gotta be another way. Cas.” He looked at Cas pleadingly.

Cas looked back at him, impassive, but one of his wings twitched. Dean gave him bigger, sadder eyes—and then something thumped him. He jumped.

Aziraphale had whacked him with a wing. “Stop that,” he said firmly. “This is the quickest route, I assure you.” He turned to Castiel. “You—are worse than Lucifer.” He shook a finger at him.

Cas drew up, insulted. “I am not!” he said.

“Yeah, you are!” said Crowley cheerfully. He clambered up onto the railing of the balcony. Just watching him up there made Dean’s stomach turn. “It’s fine; it’s endearing. I was the same with Bakt. Let’s get out of here, yeah? Like ripping off a band-aid.” He jumped off the railing. Dean could hear his huge black wings flapping open below.

Aziraphale followed him. He had—four wings? Somehow? There were two more folded under the first two. What even. Daydream World was weird. Dean turned to Cas. “What the Hell are they talking about?”

Cas looked down, embarrassed. “They’re saying I dote on you,” he said.

“Dote, seriously? What the Hell century is this?” Dean said, to cover the fact that he was also embarrassed.

Cas shrugged. “May I pick you up?”

“Whatever, man, do what you gotta,” Dean said, and braced himself.

\------------------

[1] Lucifer making swan noises was something Dean would treasure forever.

[2] Dean was special. Dean belonged to him. Michael knew it. It would take some cultivating, but he wanted the human in his life. He’d even share with Castiel. He was good at sharing!

[3] It wasn’t that she didn’t like it. She liked it quite a bit, actually. Linda had a lot of supernatural in her life, and she liked to think she’d adjusted pretty well. But a paradox was intimate. It was right there close in her heart, and it was kind of overwhelming. Good, but overwhelming--sometimes too overwhelming. It was private. She was definitely not up to a public one like that.

Both Amenadiel and Linda's uncertainty made their paradoxes rather unpredictable. They would get there, with time. 

[4] Chuck. It was still amusing. That was the name He had chosen? Seriously?

[5] Chloe, on the other hand, felt her spine stiffen in alarm. Dean had killed Alternate Lucifer?!

[6] Dean had still killed an alternate Lucifer! What the Hell! How was that okay?

[7] Such as, for example, setting a starving tiger on the captain of a Privateer ship sometime in the seventeenth century.

[8] Look. Crowley had been there, okay. Dean Winchester was an arse, and Crowley had no idea what Castiel saw in him, but he wasn’t going to ruin this for either of them. Winchester would spook if pushed too hard, that much was obvious. Easy does it, for these two.

[9] He didn’t want to think about Michael and Dean. That had been weird. What was that all about??


	5. Chapter 5

Flying was the worst, it was horrible, and this way was even worse than usual because Dean was actually kind of participating. Cas’s brown wings spread wide and graceful, and with each downbeat they lifted, just a little, and it made Dean’s stomach turn. From the air, he could even tell that they were in LA, and he really, really didn’t need to re-live his memories of Lucifer in LA. He could feel the wind and he saw the sky and the ground faaaaaaaaaaaaar down below and it made him want to hurl. Again.

They landed in a driveway. Cas carefully put Dean down. Dean got his breath back, hands just above his knees, bent over and gasping. Crowley and Aziraphale were nowhere to be seen.

“I should warn you,” said Cas gravely. He was standing some feet away and eyeing Dean warily, as if worried he would hurl again[1].

“What _now_?” Dean wheezed.

“Crowley has a Hellhound.”

“Of course he does,” scowled Dean, glaring at the well-manicured grass in front of him. He did _not_ like Hellhounds. They had literally dragged him to Hell, once. It had been the opposite of fun.

“She’s very friendly,” Cas said, doggedly.

“Of course she is. It’s Daydream World,” Dean muttered.

“And you can see her,” Cas continued, and he really did sound worried. “When I first met her, I locked her in a cage, so she is slightly wary of me, but she loves humans. Don’t hurt her, she is—a good dog.” The last was clearly a quote from Crowley.

“Awesome,” said Dean, breathing deeply as the nausea faded. It wasn’t as bad as before, but then, they hadn’t flown through Hell this time.

Cas shrugged at him. “Are you ready?”

Dean straightened and braced himself for Hellhounds. Friendly Hellhounds. What the Hell. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Cas gave him a weird half-smile and they strolled across the lawn and up to the door of the house.

The house was large and modern, painted white with great windows. It was pretty ugly, but Dean wasn’t going to say anything about it. When Cas turned the doorknob, there was a hair-raising, horrible howl, a Hellhound’s howl. It was familiar, in the worst way. Dean’s breath came a little short and he went for his gun on instinct. He felt a hard spike of anxiety when the gun was not there.

Cas opened the door, and something huge and black barreled out. This was surprising, since Hellhounds were invisible at home. It—well, it just looked like a really, really big dog, like a massive Doberman or something, and it bounced around Cas with delight. Dean blinked. What?

“Hello, Watchdog,” said Cas, gravely.

The dog didn’t let him pet it – it just raced around him, tail wagging, until it stopped, stiff-legged, and then stared at Dean. It did indeed look like a large, thick Doberman or a very slim Rottweiler. It did something with its brown eyebrows that made its gaze almost pleading, as it watched Dean.

“Dean, Watchdog,” said Cas, clearly amused. “Watchie, this is Dean Winchester. He is my friend. Human, but a hunter. I think you call them hedgewitches, here.”

The Hellhound whined at the word _hedgewitch_ and hid behind Cas. This was objectively ridiculous because its head came up past Cas’ waist. It was a really, really big dog. Also, it was a _Hellhound_ , and it was hiding. Seriously?

“Uh, not a witch,” said Dean.

Cas shrugged. “Different world; they use different terminology. It’s alright, Watchie,” he added when the dog whined again.

“You’re telling me _that’s_ a Hellhound?” Dean blurted, watching the dog cower. “Seriously?”

From inside, there was a shout. “ _So help me, Winchester, if you hurt my dog I will feed you to the harpies!_ ” Crowley.

“He will not hurt her, Crowley,” Cas called back, exasperated.

“Does she hurt people?” Dean asked Cas, already knowing the answer. It was obvious from the way she stuck by Cas’ side, head low, eyeing Dean.

“No,” said Cas, amused. “She’ll hurt anyone trying to harm Aziraphale or Crowley. That’s it. But she doesn’t hurt humans.”

“Thought so. What the Hell sort of name is Watchdog?”

“Hellhounds are different here,” Cas said. “They are defined by their names. A dog named Killer will become a killer. Watchie is called Watchdog. Her function is to guard Crowley and Aziraphale, and also humanity, if she can.”

Now that was handy. “Huh,” said Dean, watching as the giant dog peeked at him from behind Cas, all sad eyes. “So, if I named one, say, Terminator it would become the Terminator?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said, amused. “And if you called one Hunter, it would become a hunter by your side.”

Sammy would _love_ that. He’d been dying for a dog for years. And honestly, Dean might like that too—a Hellhound on their side, really on their side, would be awesome. “What are the odds we can get one for Sam?”

“Ask Lucifer,” Cas said, mouth all quirked up in a smile.

“Ugh,” said Dean.

Watchdog gazed at him out of warm brown eyes. You’d never guess she was a Hellhound, really, except by her size and her name. “Alright,” Dean sighed. He held out a hand. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Watchdog inched from behind Cas and very carefully sniffed Dean’s palm. He was kind of bracing to be bitten and bitten hard, but she didn’t do any of that. She sniffed, and then she licked him, and then she bolted back inside.

“Huh,” said Dean.

Cas grimaced. “She may be wary. Crowley says I traumatized her when I put her in that cage.”

Dean rubbed his hand against his pants, wiping the drool away. “You traumatized a Hellhound. Cas, this place keeps getting weirder.”

Cas nodded. “I know. But it’s—good. This place. It’s good.”

Dean looked him up and down, from his frowning, familiar face to the foreign, fluffy wings on his back. “You like it here,” he said. This was obvious, but it deserved saying.

“Yes,” said Cas. “Very much.”

Something in Dean wrenched hard, though he wasn’t sure what it was. Cas could have left them. The thought hurt. He could have left them at any time, and come here, where he was clearly loved. “Why didn’t you stay, then?”

Cas gave him a funny half smile. “I could never leave you, Jack, and Sam, Dean. You’re my family.”

The thing that had wrenched squeezed. “So are Crowley and Aziraphale.” He could see that, sense it, even having barely been here a few hours.

Cas nodded. “Yes. But they are infinite. They will be here in a hundred years, a thousand. You will not. I planned to spend your lifetime with you.”

Dean swallowed. Cas was an angel – this was not even close to news. He’d even brought up his long lifespan a time or two, but it was not the kind of thing they generally talked about in detail. It was—weird, knowing that Cas had some kind of plan beyond Dean’s lifetime. Good weird, actually, but still weird.

Actually, it was a relief. He had someone to take care of him, once Dean was gone. Crowley was clearly very protective. And this world seemed bizarrely safe. That was—good. That was very good.

“You have a retirement plan,” said Dean with a slow smile.

“Yes,” said Cas, and now he seemed anxious.

“Good,” said Dean.

He and Sam could never leave the life. But Cas? Hell. Cas could. Wow. Wow. He had friendly angels, a family even, just itching to take him in. That was freaking excellent, actually. “What about Jack?”

“I’ll take him here,” Cas said. “There’s a place called Tadfield, according to Aziraphale. I think Jack might do well there.”

“Good,” said Dean, again.

Cas smiled at Dean, just little. “We should go inside. They’ll be waiting. Crowley’s probably made eggs. He makes them when he’s stressed.”

Dean followed Cas to the door. “Eggs?”

“He learned the dish in Pompeii, apparently, from an evil man. Aziraphale gets upset when he makes them, because the man was so evil, but they’re quite good.”

“Evil eggs,” Dean chuckled. “Cas, we gotta come back after this. We gotta bring Sam.”

Cas led him through the door and down a short hall. “Say the word, Dean,” he said. “I would love to.” It was clear that he meant it, clear that he was dying to live here even, with his friends. Dean thought about it as they crossed into a large dining room/kitchen, where sure enough Crowley had made some kind of massive omelet-like dish.

The bunker, the Impala—home was in the other world, but this place seemed so peaceful. A place where Lucifer and Michael had a truce, one strong enough to let them sit calmly in the same room. Where Lucifer had a girlfriend, and said girlfriend came up to Dean looking casual and hot and unafraid. He wasn’t sure he trusted that yet, but Cas clearly did, and that went a long way.

And all this talk of paradoxes, like they were incredibly powerful. He was dying to learn more about that, honestly. Something like that in his back pocket—well. That could be useful. Though Cas seemed weirdly shy about it. Going to have to get to the bottom of that.

“There you are, dear,” said Aziraphale, sitting at the table and looking at Cas. “Everything alright?” Watchdog had her head in his lap, and he was scratching her ears.

“Yes,” Cas said. “Are _you_ alright? Crowley, you made eggs again.” He was of course unsurprised, but he still looked unhappy.

“I’m fine,” said the demon shortly, rummaging in a drawer in the kitchen.

“You’re lying,” said Cas.

“Well it’s Him Above, isn’t it?” Crowley slammed the drawer closed. “I _remember_ the Rebellion, Pidge. It wasn’t pretty. We already had an apocalypse! We were supposed to be done!” He turned around to face them and scrubbed his hands through his dark hair. He was wearing an apron that said _kiss the cook._ “You know what’s going to happen when Gabriel gets wind of this? When Sandalphon does? I mean, we have Michael, but he’s not the rebellious type. I’m not equipped to go to _war,_ Castiel!”

“You will not go to war,” Cas said firmly. “It is not just you. It is Lucifer as well, and it is us, the ones in Nightmare World. War is not for you, Crowley.”

Dean blinked at Cas, surprised. That was a great deal of devotion, there. To a demon, no less. But that demon looked ready to cry, yellow eyes and all[2].

Gentle soul, Dean thought. Cas always said that Crowley had a gentle soul.

“No, it’s not,” said Aziraphale softly. “Come sit, _Safaleri,_ ” This was clearly Enochian, though a word Dean did not recognize, “Eat. You’ll feel better with some food in you.” He looked at Dean. “You too. You must be hungry. You’ve been sick quite a lot. You need your strength.”

“Angel, we’re gonna have to go soon,” Crowley whispered. “Lucifer already called. I mean, to paradox the—”

“Sit,” said Aziraphale. “Lucifer can wait a few minutes. Eat.”

Crowley nodded. His yellow eyes were red rimmed. He took off his apron and sat next to Aziraphale.

Cas sat next to Crowley, leaving Dean to sit next to Aziraphale. Cas said something to Crowley, low and fierce in Enochian, a vow type of deal. Dean caught a few words here and there: Cas spoke about safety and protection.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Castiel,” Crowley sighed. “It’s what gets you in trouble.” He put some eggs on a plate and then, unexpectedly, handed them to Dean.

Dean took the plate, surprised. “Uh, thanks?” He thought Crowley didn’t like him.

“You’re the only human in the room,” Crowley told him wryly. “And therefore, the only one who actually needs to eat. You get first pick.”

Dean huffed a laugh, still surprised at that small bit of kindness. “Yeah, I guess I am.” Crowley hadn’t done anything to the eggs that he could see, and Cas looked relaxed and not alarmed, so Dean took a bite.

Holy shit, they were actually really good, even though they had vegetables in them. There was some kind of sauce and spice that was unfamiliar, and the veggies were still kind of crunchy. Also, he was really, really hungry.

Cas chuckled at Dean, looking fond. He must have a look on his face. “They’re very good,” Cas said, taking some for himself. That was weird, too. Cas usually didn’t eat. 

“Course they are,” Crowley muttered peevishly. “I’ve had two thousand years to perfect them.”

Aziraphale sighed a very judgmental sigh. Cas had said he didn’t like when Crowley made this dish because he learned it from somebody evil, hadn’t he? Dean wondered what that was all about and kept eating, because damn it was good. 

“What, angel,” Crowley muttered.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, like an unhappy mom. “You do this dish beautifully, dear.” He managed a smile. “Castiel, would you like me to do your wings when we get back?” he said, changing the subject. “They can’t be comfortable.”

“I would appreciate it,” Cas said, perking up a little.

“What do you mean, do your wings?” Dean asked.

“Point to you,” Crowley drawled. “Showing interest. That’s the right question. He means fix them. Preen them. We’ll show you how to do it, too.”

“Crowley,” said Cas. “He doesn’t have—”

“Chloe does Lucifer’s, Linda does Amenadiel’s. I should have taught Bakt to do it, but I was too messed up in those days. Total lost opportunity. It’s a family gesture,” Crowley told Dean. “Preening. It’s the sort of thing your family does, or your close friends or your—I don’t know, angels don’t have spouses, but that’s the gist. It’s incredibly isolating when no one does it for you. You should have been fixing his wings years ago.”

“Crowley,” Cas chided again. “In the other world they _blind humans._ ”

“That is the only reason I’m not furious,” said Crowley, but he still sounded pissed.

“Family?” Dean asked, alarmed. Cas had been missing out on some kind of angel family thing, for years, because they couldn’t look at his wings?

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“I have to disagree, dear,” said Aziraphale, and now he looked a little pissed, too. Somehow, that was more disturbing than Crowley looking angry. “The first time you came here you were terribly depressed; the second time, more so. When we get back, Dean, you may borrow a dowel, and I will teach you, if you like.”

“Yes,” said Dean, firmly. “You should have said something,” he told Cas, alarmed. It came out as irritation. “We could have worked something out, Cas!”

“I did not wish to see you blinded, Dean!” Cas snapped back.

“Well, we shall rectify that now,” said Aziraphale. He finished his last bite, clearing his plate. “Crowley, we should go. Lucifer and Chloe have done the first layer.”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah. I’m going to leave Watchie here with you, okay? You can play fetch or something. No hurting my dog.” This was directed to Dean. He stood up.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” said Dean. He watched them leave, and then took a second helping of the eggs. They were really good, okay, and also still warm.

\--------

[1] He was definitely worried Dean would vomit again. How much could one human vomit? Had he broken Dean? He hoped not. Dean was his favorite human.

[2] Crowley really should have been wearing his sunglasses, but he’d left them by the bed that morning, because he and Aziraphale had gone to fly together and greet the dawn. Then he’d got that weird letter from Castiel upon their windswept return, and it had all spiraled wildly out of control from there. Anyway, they were still upstairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello SPN friends. I have feelings. Do you have feelings? My feelings are mostly about Dean, and they are not positive ones. This fic was written long before the finale so in THIS universe, Dean's getting a kick in the pants about like, actually valuing people. *grumble grumble grumble* 
> 
> Anyway, I'm rage-posting this snuggly chapter. Will still reply to comments, but rage post first. :D

Crowley and Aziraphale came back late. The sun had gone down, and Dean had sort of drifted to Cas’ shoulder, curled up next to him on the remarkably comfy couch, while watching a frankly awesome movie series called The Weaponizer that didn’t exist in Nightmare World. They’d sent a letter to Sam, assuring him that they were alright. Sam had replied; Jack had apparently come out of his room in search of food, so that was good.

Dean was sort of half-asleep. Cas was warm and pliant, and the movie played quietly in the background – he’d turned down the volume, but Dean was too drowsy to really do anything about it. Dean was curled up all along Cas’s side, Cas’s arm over the back of the couch. He wasn’t really sure how they’d ended up like this, especially because he was quite sober[1]. It was alright, though—more than alright. It was a good in a way Dean couldn’t quite define, excellent even, pressed close on this couch. He was incredibly comfortable, and being this close to Cas felt _safe_ , a rare, precious feeling for Dean. It made him snuffle close sleepily, filled with affection for his best, favorite angel.

Cas was making a peculiar sound too, very low and very soft. Dean could feel it in his chest pleasantly. He’d never made a sound like that at home. Dean pondered this drowsily, drifting. He felt relaxed and warm and like he was exactly where he wanted to be, Cas near and cherished. Cas’s funny vibration resonated in Dean’s chest. Watchdog snuffled at his feet, and that was a Hellhound, but she also liked belly rubs and they’d played earlier, so who could be afraid of a dog like that?

Cas’s low sound stopped. Dean stirred, wanting it back.

“They’re home,” Cas murmured. He shrugged his shoulder a little—not enough to remove Dean, but enough to jostle him a little. “Dean. They’re home.”

Dean grumbled. He curled a little closer to Cas, trying to get the moment back.

“Oh, I don’t _know,_ my dear,” said Aziraphale’s voice, floating down the hall, lighthearted. “I do think he means well.”

“Goes without saying, angel, goes without saying,” Crowley replied, nearly giggling, what the Hell? “Lucifer always has good _intenssssions,_ and he loves that girl, but he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. She’s fourteen! What’sss he going to do when she starts dating for real?”

“Pass out condoms, I expect.”

“Why, angel! I thought lust was a sin!” Crowley cackled.

“Is it? Is it really?” Aziraphale said, and his voice dropped, low and playful[2].

“Don’t you bloody dare—Aziraphale!” Bright laughter down the hall[3].

“What the Hell?” Dean hissed to Cas. Cas shrugged.

“Are you alright?” Cas called, and there were twin thumps, like two people who were making out falling over.

“Oops,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale positively cackled. 

“Crowley?” Cas called, concerned.

“Fine! Big paradox! Little loopy!” Crowley called back. Aziraphale kept giggling.

Dean felt Cas relax beside him. “I see,” he murmured, and the worry melted into amusement.

“Loopy?” Dean muttered.

“They get very affectionate after something like that,” Cas said, shrugging. “Apparently it happens to Lucifer and Chloe, too.”

“Cas,” Dean hissed, “what the Hell is this paradox thing, anyway?”

“Union of two opposites,” Cas said. It was exactly what Crowley had said, so it was less than helpful. He looked uncomfortable. “They are unnatural, and they do not—feel—good on the senses of another Celestial. Both parties must be—keen—in order for it to work. It cannot be forced or done unwilling, and it requires trust. Truth be told, Dean, I know very little about what it actually entails for the participants beyond that fact that everyone seems very enthusiastic about it.” He was flushing, a little[4]. It was a good look on him.

“Paradoxes—” said Crowley, sliding into the room as if on socks. The room had a rug in it, and he was wearing boots, so this was kind of weird to look at. “Are the absolute _best_ and you should try it.”

“ _Crowley!_ ” Aziraphale bumped into him on the jog in. “Stop that, don’t pressure them, they’ll panic! We’re going into the other room, and we shall sleep this off. We will do your wings in the morning, Pigeon, don’t think I forgot! Come along, Crowley.”

He pulled Crowley’s arm. Crowley resisted.

Crowley _growled_ like nothing Dean had ever heard, a demonic growl, and the hairs rose on the back of his neck. It was deep and menacing and Dean would have reached for a weapon, except Aziraphale made a bell-like noise in reply, and they were off at a dead run, racing to—somewhere deeper in the house.

“What just happened?” Dean asked. At his feet, Watchdog whined unhappily.

“It’s a game,” Cas said, amused. “It makes Watchie nervous. She thinks they’re fighting. It’s alright,” he added to the Hellhound, reaching down to scratch her ear. “They’re only playing.” She whined again and put her head in Cas’ lap, begging for scratches.

Dean shook his head. This world was so bizarre, but like, it was bizarre in the nicest ways. It was hard to believe – an angel and a demon playing chasing games, and Cas was sitting calmly petting a Hellhound. His lack of alarm was soothing.

“Dude, gotta say, this is my favorite Hellhound.” Watchie wagged her tail. “Don’t get too excited,” Dean told her, amused, “the competition wasn’t that steep.”

She woofed at him, very quietly, tail still wagging. “We gotta get one of these for Sam,” Dean murmured.

“Ask Lucifer,” Cas said. “Or Crowley. When he’s not—” he waved a hand down the hall.

“High as a kite?” Dean said.

Cas chuckled. “Yes. That.” He stood and stretched his arms, another thing he usually didn’t bother with at home. Maybe it felt different here. It looked—Dean didn’t think about it. It was Cas but it was also Jimmy Novak, the human body Cas was riding in. And Jimmy was dead! He had a nice stomach when Cas’s shirt rode up, but he was dead! Noticing physical things about Cas was problematic like that.

And Dean was just going to keep telling himself that.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Cas said. “There should be other rooms?”

Dean followed him down a hall. He was worried he was going to hear, like, loud sex or something, because of how loopy Crowley and Aziraphale had been, but there was no sound[5]. He chose the room that shared a bathroom with Cas.

He hadn’t exactly packed anything, but the bathroom had extra toothbrushes and toothpaste, so that was alright.

“Dean,” said Cas, while Dean was brushing. Dean hummed at him.

“It’s—easier here,” he said, apropos to nothing. “I can make you more clothes. If you need them.”

Dean shrugged at him, mouth full of toothpaste. Cas tapped at the counter, and three shirts, two pairs of jeans, socks and underwear appeared in a neat pile. Dean spat out the toothpaste.

“Thanks,” he said, surprised. “You don’t do that at home.”

“It takes more energy at home than it does here. This world is more malleable. The others—some use it more, some less.” He tapped the counter again, thinking. “Crowley and Aziraphale do it the most, so perhaps I imitate them. Lucifer and Amenadiel don’t use it at all. I’m told Amenadiel once brought a man back to life and it went poorly, so he is wary. Lucifer—” He shrugged. “He says it has something to do with Chuck. Raguel has no powers, and I don’t know Michael at all.”

“You really think Lucifer doesn’t do that?” Dean waved his hand at the little pile of clothes to indicate power or miracles or whatever.

“I know so,” Cas said. “I—spent some time with him, when I was here last. He was reluctant to even light a dark tunnel.”

“You sure he wasn’t lying?”

Cas nodded. “Yes. This one doesn’t lie. He stretches the truth and obfuscates, but he does not lie. I was possessed by our Lucifer, Dean.” This he said very seriously. “This one is nothing like him. I recommend caution, because he has powers here that the other did not at home, but he will not harm you.”

“That’s a big ask, Cas.”

“I know,” sighed Cas. “I know. When I was here before, Crowley asked for my trust. He said that I did not have to trust the others, not yet, but should I trust _him_ , no harm would come to me. And I did. And he was right.” He took a breath that Dean was fairly sure he didn’t need. “So, Dean, I will ask the same of you. In Daydream World—trust me, if not the others. That can come later.”

Dean did trust Cas. He trusted Cas with his life. The thing was, Cas had made a lot of questionable decisions over the years.

But on the other hand, he knew about Crowley and Aziraphale. He knew what they meant to Cas, and he’d been reading and even replying to their letters for years. He wasn’t sure he’d trust them with his life right off the bat, but they clearly loved Cas, for real, and that was enough to go on for now.

“Alright,” he said. “Alright, Cas.”

Cas looked relieved. “I would like to shower when you are finished,” he said. “If they’re going to fix my wings, it—helps.”

Dean nodded. “Alright.”

“And Dean?”

“Mm?”

“Thanks.”

\--------------

[1] It was kind of Watchdog’s fault. She’d been playing with Dean and had settled on the floor close to Castiel. Dean had sat close to Castiel on the couch so he could reach the dog, and then he had slowly started to fall asleep from there. Watchdog was no fool. She was a _good dog._

[2] They didn’t have sex very often. Aziraphale generally didn’t enjoy human sex, on the whole, and it frankly paled in comparison to a paradox, and to the other things they could do. But on the rare occasion it could be fun. Usually they both regretted it afterwards because it was sticky, but Aziraphale wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about Crowley standing nearly on his toes, vibrating with energy, but the good kind. He looked bright-eyed and lovely and Aziraphale _wanted_ him, the human way, which was always rather strange but lovely all the same.

[3] He’d pinched him! That brat! Sex was messy and full of landmines for Crowley, but Aziraphale knew them all, and could navigate them perfectly. Crowley was feeling excellent after that paradox; he could be convinced. 

[4] This was all true! Castiel had no idea what he was doing, paradox-wise, or Dean-wise. “It’s not like sex, you know,” Crowley had told him dreamily once. “Like. Not even a little bit.” Which was just unhelpful. Castiel was so confused.

But it wouldn’t work unwilling. He knew that much. It was a comfort. As bad as he was at explaining this, he knew that both parties had to want it, wholeheartedly. Which meant he could not accidentally coerce Dean into doing this. It was his greatest fear, his greatest worry. Dean had to choose it and continue to choose it; he could back out. Castiel comforted himself with this fact, even as he stuttered out what even he knew were poor explanations. 

[5] As if they didn’t know how to miracle a wall to be soundproofed, honestly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for listening to my SPN finale wailing. I was kind of having a Moment. I feel much better now. Have some more snuggles.

Dean woke to a knock on his door. He turned over, but the knocking got more insistent.

“Winchester,” Crowley said through the door. “You gotta come downstairs. Your angel’s an idiot who’s never going to ask, but you really do have to learn how to do this.”

What was that about Cas?

Dean stumbled out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He opened the door. “What?”

“Aziraphale’s stalling,” Crowley told him, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. He looked totally sober. His black hair was wet, too, like he’d just showered[1]. “But Castiel will catch on eventually. Look.” He paused and shifted his weight, like he was uncomfortable. “I’m kind of getting a miscommunication vibe here? Angels need preening. It does things to your head when you don’t get it. I would know. Your boy down there is particularly bad – he never does it himself for some reason. It itches when it’s not done. It hurts. It affects your balance and your flight and your health. He says you’re his family. If you’re his family, he needs you to do this for him. He’ll never ask, because he’s a prat, but it’s important.”

Dean was wide awake. “What do I need to do?”

“Come with me,” said Crowley, and Dean followed him down the hall and then down the stairs.

In the living room, Cas was sitting backwards on a tall backed chair, shirtless. His brown hunter’s wings were folded neatly on his back. He was watching Aziraphale with a wry smile; Aziraphale was puttering around the kitchen, chattering away about—croissants?

In front of him, Crowley whistled, a birdlike sound. Enochian? It sounded kind of Enochian-ish. Weird to hear Enochian used like the sort of language you speak.

“Oh, there you are,” said Aziraphale, sounding relieved.

“Yep. Got it, and something extra.” He pulled two, like, _rods_ from somewhere. They were long and thin, like a baton, but ending in a dull point. One looked like it was made with some sort of plant, though the point was some gold-colored metal. The other was dark wood, carved with a pattern like scales.

He gave the wooden, scaled one to Dean.

“Dean,” said Cas, looking over his shoulder in surprise.

“Yeah, he’s learning, no excuses,” said Crowley. He strolled from Dean’s side and tapped Cas on the head with the second baton, playful, before passing it to Aziraphale.

Cas blinked at Dean. He still looked very surprised. “Dean, if this is something he’s making you do—”

“—then he can fuck right off. This is part of Care and Feeding of Angels,” said Crowley loudly. Having given the baton to Aziraphale, he flounced off to the couch, and plopped down on it, kicking his feet up[2].

“It’s fine,” Dean said, a little bewildered. “I have literally never seen you sit backward in a chair, but it’s fine.”

Cas chuckled. “It’s just how they do it. The chair is not actually necessary.”

He seemed entirely unbothered that he was shirtless with his wings out, and in a kind of vulnerable position. It made Dean a little uncomfortable, to see him so, but it also made him feel kind of— protective.

“What do I need to do?” he asked, taking a step forward.

Aziraphale bustled up to him. “Crowley gave you—ah. Good.” He showed Dean his baton. “This is called a dowel,” he said, very firmly. “After this, we are going to teach you how to make your own. This is very important; a dowel feels like its owner. The one you are using is Crowley’s. Luckily for us all, Castiel quite likes Crowley,” here he reached over and sort of affectionately tapped Cas with his own—dowel, “So it should not be a problem.”

“If you use a store-bought knitting needle or some such,” Crowley said from the couch, “our Pigeon there is going to jump out of his skin, because it’s going to feel like every single human who ever touched it in its manufacturing. Do not do this. It has to be hand-made. Buy something, and I will set Watchdog on you.”

Dean looked at Watchdog, who was napping in a patch of sunlight, belly up. She kicked in her sleep. She didn’t look even a little bit threatening.

“Hand made,” he said, “Got it.”

“Watchdog won’t actually hurt you, Dean,” Cas said from the chair, exasperated. “She doesn’t hurt humans.”

“Store bought knitting needle, then?” Dean teased. Cas actually shuddered. So, this was a real thing, then. Duly noted.

“Please don’t,” he said.

“You got it, buddy,” Dean said warmly. He could whittle something.

Aziraphale beckoned him, and he followed. Aziraphale made a fist, and then lightly tapped Cas’s spine with his smallest knuckle. Dutifully, Cas spread both his wings. They were huge, Dean marveled, nearly reaching the walls on either side of the room. He’d seen that they were brown and banded like a falcon’s before, of course, but up close and stretched like this—wow. That was really something. They were really awesome. Aziraphale turned to Dean.

“Are you right or left-handed?” he asked.

“Right-handed?” Dean said, puzzled.

“Excellent. Place your left hand here, please.” Carefully, Aziraphale stepped over to one side and then rested his hand at the top of Cas’s huge, spread wing. “This is called the leading edge. It’s essential for flight. It’s also where you push to fold the wing.” He took his hand away and arched an eyebrow.

Dean followed him and then reached to put his left hand where Aziraphale’s had been. Cas’s wing _flexed,_ as if surprised, and pushed up into his hand.

“You okay?” Dean asked, startled. The wings were attached to Cas, of course, and they’d moved before but—it was different. The wing was warm and _alive_ against his palm, and the feathers shifted.

“Different,” Cas gritted, like he was in pain[3].

“Very different!” called Crowley from the couch. “You never get used to it; it’s brilliant!”

“Cas?” Dean asked again, alarmed. He was acutely aware that the alien feathery thing he was holding in his hand was part of Cas and maybe this was more than he’d signed up for.

“I’m fine; I was not expecting that.” He let out a breath. “You’re supposed to push it closed.”

Dean looked at Aziraphale, who nodded, and carefully pushed the wing closed, so it folded neatly on Cas’s back. Cas sighed, and kind of slumped forwards.

“It’s relaxing,” Aziraphale explained. “And also signals the start and the end. Now, very important; Castiel is a Seraph in your world, and therefore rather high-ranking. This means he has blades on his wings.”

“Seriously?” Dean asked, delighted, “Since when?”

“Since always,” Cas murmured. He’d rested his cheek against his folded arms. “It has simply not come up.”

“Like Hell! Let me see!”

Aziraphale chuckled. “One sharpened feather on each wing,” he said. “The first primary. Primaries are his flight feathers.” He tapped them with his dowel, and sure enough, Dean could see that one of the huge feathers, easily more than the length of his torso, was sharpened like a blade.

“That,” he said, “is _awesome_.”

Cas chuckled.

“Following the primaries,” Aziraphale said, tapping more feathers, “are the secondaries. These provide lift and are also important for flying. Lastly are the tertiaries, also important for flight, but not as much as the others. Everyone is different; Castiel prefers we start here. The feathers here—” he ran his dowel through the smaller feathers above, “are coverts. They are for air flow, but they also help with powder down, which we shall get to in a moment. Lastly is the alula, which helps with control.” Aziraphale smiled. “Now, most importantly, is the powder down.” He slid his dowel underneath the smaller feathers – coverts – and lifted them. Underneath was a bunch of matted gray stuff.

He clucked. “Castiel,” he said firmly.

Cas made a grumbling, petulant sound but said nothing otherwise.

“Powder down grows underneath; part of the preening is to spread it to the other feathers, as it helps with cleaning. If you _do not preen regularly,_ ” he added severely to Cas, “It builds up and can cause terrible discomfort, and it can twist your coverts as well. This, for example, is a disaster.”

Cas grumbled again.

“The first thing you are going to do, Dean Winchester,” Aziraphale said, still severe, “is pull all of this out. Powder down is made to crumble; it will disintegrate in your hands. You will not hurt him.”

He stepped out of the way.

Dean slid Crowley’s dowel under the feathers the way Aziraphale had. It wasn’t that hard. The down was coarse and scratchy under his fingers, like dust, and it did indeed disintegrate. He rubbed at it. It had kind of a smell to it, too, though nothing bad. It smelled like—well--dust, but a little sweet, distinctive the way honey was distinctive. Weird.

“Just tear it, Dean,” Cas said, gruff. “It does not hurt. It has been bothering me for some time.”

Alright then. Dean got his nails in there and pulled and got a whole clump. Cas sighed and slumped a little, like Dean had scratched a particularly bad itch. Huh.

“Get all of the big clumps,” Aziraphale said. “Call me back over when you’re done. Don’t wipe it from your fingers; it needs to go on the surrounding feathers. After you do that, I shall show you how to straighten the other feathers.” When Dean nodded, he strolled off to sit with Crowley. He heard them murmuring together, but not what they said.

Cas had massive clumps of the stuff like knots under his coverts. He pushed his wing into Dean’s hand when Dean got a good one, and that made Dean grin. This wasn’t so hard, and it wasn’t so bad, either. That honey dusty smell was comforting. “What’s it feel like?” he asked Cas.

“Complicated,” Cas murmured. “The down itches. I’ve had worse, but it is still uncomfortable. Pulling it out feels like you are scratching it. It is very much a relief.” He sighed. Dean was about to ask another question when he continued. “The dowel is Crowley’s, so it feels like expensive wine and serpent scales. Pleasant. The hands are _yours,_ and they are very warm, and I know them well. There is a trust element to this that Aziraphale is explaining poorly; I feel that I trust you, and I feel content[4].”

Dean fiddled with one of the coverts. Cas shivered. That was weird, Cas being so connected to these wings, Cas being so physical while also an angel. That usually only happened when he’d been human in the past.

It was also—Cas. Those wings were Cas. Not Jimmy. Something in Dean clenched, a little, at the realization. This was the angel, not the vessel. His angel, kind of – the one who answered his call and hung out in the bunker and smiled. He petted the coverts, a little struck with it. They were very soft. _Cas_ was very soft.

“All good things, then,” Dean said, gruff.

“All good things,” Cas agreed. “Of course, all good things, Dean.” He sounded drowsy. 

“You going to fall asleep on me, man?” He tugged out another clump of powder down.

“It is very likely,” Cas said, a little apologetic.

Dean chuckled. “Am I insulted if you fall asleep?”

“You are honored,” Cas murmured, unguarded. 

“Honored. Alright then.” A weird sort of lump rose in his throat. Honored. It was clear that this meant something, something about trust and family, but put like that—put like that, this was something significant indeed. Trying and mostly failing to banish the deep-seated feeling, tangled and complicated and big, that was tugging his heart, Dean pulled out the last big clump of powder down. He contemplated some of the smaller clumps but called Aziraphale back over anyway.

“Very good,” Aziraphale said. “Here is your next task; now that you’ve cleaned him up, you have to straighten his feathers. Like so.” He spread his fingers, and showed Dean how to do it, and how to use the smaller clumps to cover them with the remaining powder down in the process. “Tertiaries first,” he insisted, and Dean obeyed.

The tertiaries were finicky and layered close to Cas’s back and his warm skin. Cas shifted them a little, trying to make them easier to access. It helped. Dean ran the backs of his fingers against Cas’s skin, where the wing joined, both in thanks and in curiosity.

Cas pulled back.

“Alright?” Dean asked, concerned. 

“Ticklish,” Cas muttered sullenly, and the concern melted. Dean laughed.

“Are you kidding?” he demanded, delighted. 

“The join of your arm is ticklish,” Cas said, still sounding sulky. That was. The funniest damn thing that Dean had encountered in a long, long time. He grinned at Cas’s back, feeling—well, rather tender. Ugh that was an awful word, what was he, sixteen?

“You are not wrong,” said Dean, merrily, and he ran his fingers through the tertiaries again, amused. Cas settled, and Dean chuckled.

\----------

[1] Sex was _so_ messy. There were reasons they stuck to paradoxes and games. He and Aziraphale woke up, stared at each other, and laughed themselves silly while stumbling to the shower. “Why did we do that?” Aziraphale had wailed, amused, as he rubbed conditioner into Crowley’s hair.   
  
“Beats me,” Crowley grinned at him, enjoying the attention even if Aziraphale had skipped the shampoo and was totally doing it wrong. “It was your idea.”

[2] Crowley did not have the patience to teach this idiot human, who mistreated his Pigeon so, how to preen. Aziraphale was handling it this time.

[3] It wasn’t pain. It was _lovely,_ shockingly so. He liked the care and attention Aziraphale and Crowley paid him, each different in their own way—Aziraphale meticulous, Crowley doting—but this was entirely different. This felt like _love,_ fierce and true and it took his breath away. He wanted to arch right up into Dean and thrum and hide there forever.

[4] This was dangerous. That deal he’d made, that foolhardy deal; if he experienced too much happiness, too much contentment, Castiel could find himself in a very bad situation indeed…. But all was not right with the world; Castiel still worried about Sam and Jack and Chuck destroying things, so he rather thought he was alright for now.


	8. Chapter 8

He finished the tertiaries and moved on to the secondaries. One of them was bent, and no matter how much Dean tried to fix it, it wouldn’t unbend. Aziraphale clucked and clucked and talked about angels who didn’t take care of themselves and clipped the feather.

“This pinches,” he told Dean firmly. “Don’t do it without permission, and unless you are certain you cannot fix it.” He pointed out other feathers that had been clipped in the past[1]; apparently, they didn’t grow back until the next molt, whenever that was.

Cas winced when Aziraphale clipped the feather, but otherwise didn’t complain. Not liking that flinch, Dean found himself petting the leading edge of the wing soothingly afterward, high towards the alula and away from Cas’s awesome blades. He breathed in the comforting dusty honey smell of the down, ordering the feathers gently. Cas kind of became a puddle on the chair, wing pressing upward into Dean’s hand.

“You are,” Aziraphale told Cas’s back, “the most ridiculous creature. Stop, stop, stop.” He poked his back with a finger. “It’s _alright_ , you know. We all love you here.”

Dean blinked at Aziraphale, very confused and a little annoyed that he was poking Cas when Cas was clearly so relaxed, but then Cas sighed, and he made that weird sound again, the low, soft one from last night that resonated in Dean’s chest.

“There we are,” Aziraphale said. He stroked through Cas’s feathers affectionately. “This is a sound that angels make to those they love,” he told Dean brusquely. “Friends, family, lovers. We do not discriminate; all kinds of love count. Holding it down is not poor for his health but it is—extremely upsetting. For him and for me, frankly.” Aziraphale also made that sound, deep and strange in his chest, as if in answer to Cas. He patted Cas’s shoulder and walked back to the couch.

“Good?” Dean asked Cas, low and soft. Aziraphale had said family, and that was certainly true, but just—just to make sure—

“Very good,” Cas murmured. He spoke on top of the sound, at the same time, like he wasn’t using his breath to do it.

“Good,” said Dean. He straightened more feathers. “Why have you never done it before?”

“Wasn’t the right time,” Cas murmured. “Apocalypse or Amara or—” he faded, drowsy, into another low hum.

“And the other angels?” Dean asked.

“No one’s thrummed in our Heaven in thousands of years – at least not that I’ve heard,” Cas replied, slurring a little. “Affection drained away. It’s a love-sound, a content-sound. Good things.”

A good sound[2]. Content out of Cas? Definitely a good thing. Dean didn’t want to examine that love too hard. He knew Cas loved him. Hell, he knew he loved Cas. This was obvious. He’d die for Cas, like he’d die for Sam. Cas was family.

He didn’t want to examine what _kind_ of love that was, though. It was the intense kind, the scary kind. He had labeled it _brother_ and didn’t look back. Somewhere in his heart he knew that label was a lie, though.

Dean was good at lying.

He could kind of feel those happy thrums through his fingers as he fixed soft brown feathers. He definitely felt it in his chest. It was—weirdly endearing, weirdly precious, too precious for teasing. He straightened Cas’s feathers and listened to Cas fade into a kind of half-sleep, still making that deep sound. Dean was smiling. He knew he was smiling.

It was easy work. Dean could smell that comforting dusty honey smell, and he hummed a few bars of _Ramble On_ , feeling pretty pleased with the world. Cas’s thrums went kind of funny: he matched him, perfectly in tune, a bass accompaniment. That was neat. He switched to _Traveling Riverside Blues_ and Cas kept up with him, easy as breathing and apparently unconscious. Dean chuckled, pleased. If Crowley and Aziraphale hadn’t been over there, he would have busted out into song, but he didn’t, aware of the eyes on him.

He finished Cas’s wings slowly. He was starting to see Aziraphale’s point: Cas had a lot of crooked feathers, and a lot of that clumped up powder down. Couldn’t be comfortable. That one wing, front and back, took forever, and when he closed it at Aziraphale’s direction, Cas going even more puddly at the gesture, he saw the difference.

The preened wing looked sleek and smooth. The other one was a mess. He hadn’t known what it was supposed to look like, before. Dean got to work, and he thought about Cas, Cas not doing this, Cas not fixing it. Hard to reach by yourself, probably, and there was the whole eyeball-burning thing, but they could have found a way. If Cas needed this, and he definitely did—it was clear he did—they could have found a way. He raked his fingers through the coverts and listened to Cas thrum, deep and soft. Happy noises. Happy noises that he was going to tuck close to his heart, frankly, and let’s not look at that too closely.

He finished that second wing eventually. He was loath to wake Cas up, but when he folded the other wing he stirred, and the thrums tapered off. Too bad. It was a good sound.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said, raspy.

Dean nodded. “You’re welcome,” he said awkwardly.

“So!”

They both jumped as Crowley hopped off the couch. “You need to give me back my dowel, and we need to get one for you. Also, you need to wash your hands.” He pointed at Dean’s hands.

Dean looked down. His fingers were covered with pale brown powder down. “Oh. Yeah. Hey, Cas, do we use this stuff?” He shook his hands and some of the dust fluttered to the floor. It wasn’t particularly gross; it felt like very, very fine sawdust.

“What do you mean, use this stuff?” Crowley asked.

“Yes,” said Cas, amused. He shifted in his chair and stretched one of his legs. Was that--just the smallest amount of blood on his foot? It disappeared before Dean's eyes. That was weird and likely something Dean should ask him about. “You probably see it in spell books as Angel Dust.”

That—was a thing that Dean had absolutely seen in spell books before. He’d always thought it was some kind of plant or something. Come to think of it, they had always seemed to have an endless supply. “Huh,” he said.

“So that was the creepiest question you could have possibly asked,” Crowley said conversationally.

Cas chuckled. “Spell ingredients are useful,” he said.

“You are not a spell ingredient,” Crowley told him firmly. “You are Castiel. What do you think he is, a walking apothecary?” He glared at Dean, rage rising in his posture.

Dean blinked, thrown. The warm fuzzies from the preening were dissolving. “What’s your problem, man?”

“I don’t like how you keep taking bits from Castiel and not giving them back! Give me my dowel, please.” The last was a growl, and he held out his hand.

“Of course he gives them back, Crowley,” Cas sighed, rising from the chair. He shook his wings out, and man, they looked much better, if Dean did say so himself.

Dean slapped the dowel into Crowley’s hand. “What the Hell do you know, anyway?” Dean snapped. “You’re a demon.”

“Yeah, I’m a demon,” snapped Crowley. “I know more about _love_ than you ever could.”

Love? Since when were they talking about love? Dean clenched his fists, bit Aziraphale spoke before he could say anything.

“Crowley,” he murmured, also rising.

“You know what it’s like?” Crowley snapped, and now he was in Dean’s face. What the Hell? Dean held his ground and glared. “Let me tell you what it’s like. It’s _shocking,_ Dean Winchester, how fast you go. It is always a shock, and the loss lasts for decades.” He glared. “There is pain in your boy’s future, and that is inevitable, that’s part of it, but I will not _stand_ for you to make that pain worse by abusing him, do you understand?”

Dean’s head reeled. Pain? What pain? It all kind of blurred into rage. “Back off,” Dean growled, a warning, because he was in Dean’s face and Dean was itching to deck him.

“He does not abuse me,” Cas added, startled, before Dean could say more.

“Masaharta never threw me out of my own house!” Crowley snapped. “Never left me lost and alone after Kemset died! He cried on my _shoulder_ and he did not take it out on me! Bakt sang us both to sleep! That is how you deal with loss! A prostitute and a thief treated me better than you ever treated him, Dean Winchester. And he still trusts you enough to let you fix his wings! He’s a sodding miracle, our Castiel. I have no idea what that makes _you_.”

Dean took a step back himself, reeling. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he spat.

“I have every idea what I’m talking about,” Crowley hissed. “I am six thousand years old. You think I never learned a thing or two about humans? About myself?”

“Crowley, he apologized,” Cas said. “I am no longer angry.”

“You’re not angry because you need a therapist,” Crowley told him frankly. “I can see that you’re bonded tight enough for a paradox, and you hang on to that, Pidge, that’s rare, but you need to teach him some bleeding manners. Lesson the first.” He rounded on Dean again. “He is more than the sum of his parts! Just like you! Which means he doesn’t need to be _useful_ to be _part of the team!_ ”

This had gotten wildly out of control. All the warm fuzzies were gone. The worst part was that Crowley was right.

“What the Hell do you take me for?” Dean shouted, defensive. He stepped forward furiously, getting right up in Crowley’s face. He clenched his fists. “He’s family! Of course he’s part of the team!”

“Then act like it!” Crowley shouted back, a little wild[3]. “He’s not useful! He’s a _person_!”

“Crowley, that’s enough.” Cas had slipped from the chair and slid himself in front of Dean, which was probably a good thing; Dean was really ready to punch the douchebag. Who the Hell did Crowley think he was? “It’s alright. It’s _alright_ , Crowley.”

Crowley shook his head. “It’s not,” he said, and he sounded upset. “He’s still looking at you and seeing _other_. You need to talk to Linda, Pidge, this isn’t good.”

“ _I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of Hell to die upon the hand I love so well_ ,” Aziraphale murmured softly from the chair. He was leaning on its arm, watching them. “He’s not wrong.”

“Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Cas said, because of course he knew that one. Metatron had definitely dumped Shakespeare in his head, that time. 

“ _What fools these mortals be_ ,” Crowley replied, a little desperate.

“Are you all seriously quoting Shakespeare?” Dean blurted. He was feeling a little whiplash at how fast this argument had deescalated – that was not something he was used to – and he also didn’t like the sound of that. _To die upon the hand I love so well?_ Was that supposed to be Cas?

“Saw it at the Globe,” Crowley muttered. “With Aziraphale.” He tilted his head to the angel, leaning against the chair, quiet, watching.

“You’re not—” Dean told Cas, confused. He didn’t know what to do with that _die upon your hand_ thing, that was freaky, and it hurt somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Dean couldn’t—he could _never_ —

“Of course not,” said Aziraphale, before Crowley could snarl. “Why don’t I take you out to find some materials for a dowel, Dean. Crowley, perhaps order some lunch? Or take Castiel out for a soar. That will cool your temper.”

The demon nodded. His jaw was clenched, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Go upstairs and get changed,” Aziraphale told Dean gently, because he was still wearing a sleep shirt. “And then we shall go.”

Dean nodded, still feeling bewildered. With one last backwards look at Cas, he went upstairs.

\----------------

[1] Which Aziraphale had done himself, of course, the last time Castiel had been here.

[2] Not that good! Some part of Castiel was grasping for things to be unhappy about. It was very difficult! Dean was preening his wings and it was the best thing! In desperation, he’d miracled a nail to stick up from the floorboard and he was digging his heel into it, ensuring by sheer force of will that he would feel it. It was very uncomfortable but if it kept him alive a moment longer to enjoy this it was worth it.

[3] He was a little freaked out at the violence that coiled tense in Dean’s shoulders, but angry enough on behalf of his Pigeon to keep on shouting.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS!! I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy from all the discussion in the comments. You are all great, you are all wonderful, you all brought up REALLY INTERESTING points on all sides of this argument!!! I love reading what you wrote and chatting with you! And, best of all, nobody had a "you're wrong on the internet" fight!!
> 
> Anyway. I am like beyond delighted so surprise! Have another chapter. Happy whatever harvest festival you celebrate, and if you don't celebrate one, happy Thursday!!

Aziraphale had gotten Dean a sandwich from somewhere, because it was lunchtime. It was a good sandwich, too. Dean was pretty sure it had fancy cheese in it. After, Aziraphale beckoned Watchdog, and he and Dean walked through the small neighborhood. The place was pretending to be suburbia, but the houses were all just a little too big, just a little too stylized, to pull it off. They were mansions, all, and it was a little intimidating. 

“Crowley is incredibly protective of those he loves,” Aziraphale said quietly. “And he cares for Castiel a great deal.”

“Doesn’t mean he has to be a douche,” Dean muttered, kicking a stone. To his left was a great house that sprawled in all directions, including up. How could anyone live in that much space? The bunker wasn’t small, and it echoed sometimes, with just the three of them. These houses looked twice as big.

He came up on the stone again, kicked it. Watchdog lunged to catch it[1].

“Oh, I’m afraid it does. He is a demon, after all.”

Dean huffed. “And you? Are you pissed too?”

“Furious, actually,” Aziraphale said mildly[2].

Dean gave him a weird look. “Funny way of showing it.” Watchie left the stone and rolled in someone’s yard in the corner of his eye.

“Oh, Crowley burns hot. I burn cold. I’ve been told that I’m the more dangerous of the two of us.” He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.

Dean gulped. “Uh, then why are we going for a walk?”

“Because you’re going to make amends,” Aziraphale said firmly, and Dean definitely didn’t have a choice about that. “Crowley is right: Castiel has been meeting you on the human side of things, but he is not human. He is an angel. He will require different things from you. The first step to meeting him in the middle, as you must, is to make a dowel. They are significant, you see.”

Dean blinked at him. He was willing to meet Cas in the middle, of course. He just hadn’t been aware that it was necessary. Stupid Cas hadn’t said anything. Maybe Cas hadn’t thought he could say anything? Guilt gnawed somewhere in the pit of Dean’s stomach. Middle. Right. Okay. “Okay? But no—sacrifices or human blood or—?”

“Oh, dear me no, of course not,” Aziraphale said. “But they must be made by hand and made with love. And it must be genuine. He’ll be able to feel it, if it’s not.”

That—was totally something Dean could do, actually. He relaxed. “Alright, what’s the catch?”

“No catch,” said Aziraphale. “This is my universe, not yours. It has exactly as much meaning as you place into it. For example, my dowel is made of braided papyrus from the River Nile. I clipped it and braided it and dried it. I melted gold to shape the tip, and to bind it at the top. There is a miracle to preserve it, of course, so I did cheat a little, but Crowley doesn’t begrudge me that.” He smiled. “Crowley’s is mahogany. It has protective properties, and it is a strong, beautiful wood. He cut the branch himself, and he carved it himself. It took him months. This requires effort.” He paused thoughtfully and added, “Lucifer made one for Chloe. Now, Chloe doesn’t have wings, but it was a gesture. He made it from blown glass. Chloe’s is made of porcelain and glazed to look like stars. Linda had a bamboo plant in her house that had grown large; she used the wood from that to make one for Amenadiel. Amenadiel has had one for eons; it’s made of silver and looks like a vine. So, you see, it is personal, and as difficult as you make it.”

“And the more difficult you make it, the better it is?” Dean asked wryly.

“No,” said Aziraphale. “The more effort you put in, the more of yourself goes in, too. Chloe’s porcelain was not especially difficult to obtain or to make. But she was choosey and thoughtful. Linda’s was quite easy; she’d had that plant for years, simply growing in her house. I believe it took her a few hours to make it properly. It all depends on what you put in it.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Alright. Hey, shouldn’t we be worrying about, you know, the end of the universe?”

“I am,” said Aziraphale. He smiled, a little mysteriously. “This is part of it, I’m certain of it. You are part of it[3].” He met Dean’s eyes and held them, for a moment.

This was—kind of weird and awkward. Dean didn’t really know what to do with that. Luckily, Watchie ran full tilt after a crow, missed her lunge, and crashed into a nearby hedge. It kind of ruined the moment.

“Seriously?” Dean asked wryly, more about the dog than about what Aziraphale was talking about.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale replied mildly, strolling over to help Watchie out of the hedge. “Now, do you have any thoughts as to materials?”

Materials. Dean had thought he could whittle something, and he probably still could, in a pinch. He knew how to do that. But he was kind of getting what Aziraphale was saying, that you had to put some effort into this thing. This was significant. This was an angel thing. It would ultimately make Cas make that strange thrumming noise, which he should never stop making.

Hang on.

“Wait.” Dean stopped dead. Aziraphale looked at him, and Watchdog bounded up to him, sniffing, concerned. “The kid has wings, too,” he said. He patted the Hellhound absently.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The kid. Jack. He has wings.”

Aziraphale’s forehead wrinkled. “I thought he was dead.”

“He’s an honorary Winchester; that doesn’t always last,” said Dean.

“Your world is terrible.”

“Tell me about it. But he has wings. Does he need this, too?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale without missing a beat. “If he has wings, then he needs it. If Castiel has never preened him I am going to lock him in Islington’s Cage until he thinks about what he’s done.”

Dean only knew about Lucifer’s Cage. “Who’s Islington?”

“The angel who sank Atlantis. It’s in Heaven now. Crowley bit it – he’s venomous – so it shall be very ill for at least a decade, and even then, the other angels have it locked away. Michael made sure of it. Its Cage sits empty in London Below. I am its keeper, alongside an order of friars.” A beat. “I won’t really lock him away,” he added. “But I will be quite cross.”

Dean chuckled. “Man, I don’t want to see that.” He kicked another stone and watched the dog race after it. “I’ll figure something out,” he said, looking down. “There has to be a way to do this in our world without going blind.”

“Good lad,” said Aziraphale. “I am happy to help, if you need it. I’m just a letter away.”

Dean nodded. “He really loves you, you know,” he said gruffly. “Cas. He misses you, when he’s home.” This had always been clear, but it was becoming more obvious now, seeing Cas interacting with Aziraphale, with Crowley. He trusted them absolutely—a rare thing, from Cas.

Aziraphale smiled. “I miss him, too. Crowley worries endlessly for him. You have quite a few monsters, and that Naomi.” He pursed his lips.

“Yeah, Cas said she got you,” Dean said.

“Yes. I nearly forgot who I was entirely. Crowley brought me back.” Aziraphale obligingly took the stone from Watchdog and tossed it. It transformed into a stick, and the dog caught it midair.

“What is _up_ with him?” Dean blurted. “What the Hell demon tells you to see a therapist?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Crowley and I have been on Earth for its entire history,” he said. “As we changed humanity, humanity changed us. He is remarkable, in truth, my Crowley. But don’t fret.” He met Dean’s eye. “He’ll warm to you. If Castiel has found it in him to love you, then Crowley will find a way, too. He’s a terribly soft heart, underneath it all.”

Dean felt a strange pang. _If Castiel has found it in him to love you…_ “This place is so weird,” Dean muttered. Case in point: the Hellhound begging him to throw a stick that had been a stone two minutes ago.

Dean threw it anyway.

“Yours is more so,” said Aziraphale, watching Watchdog run. “Now. What were you thinking for this dowel?”

“Look, man, I know how to whittle, and I know cars, and that’s kind of it.”

“Then play to your strengths,” said Aziraphale. “I suggest you not use car parts; that would feel—” He shuddered a little. “Too many hands on them, you see, and your Castiel is actually rather sensitive; too many people have betrayed him.” This was severe and a little angry, though not directed at Dean. “He won’t tolerate a stranger at his back, even if just a human who had a part in the making of the dowel.”

“So. Wood,” said Dean. He was a little distracted by _his Castiel._ It wasn’t like he was wrong, Cas was his the way Sam was his, his to keep safe and, okay, fine, even his to love, but said so plainly like that was just weird.

And he thought of those soft wings, Cas’s happy thrums. He swallowed.

“Choose carefully. It matters. It must hold some significance.” They’d walked in a circle. They were back at the house. Watchdog frolicked with her stick. Dean nodded slowly.

“I don’t know much about, like, plant significance or anything,” he said. “Anywhere I can research?”

Aziraphale paused and looked at him thoughtfully. There was approval there. Dean felt like maybe he just scored a point, somehow. “I can get you something,” he said lightly.

“Thanks,” said Dean.

Watchdog bounded ahead of them into the house, barking gleefully. There was no Crowley to be found, though there was a strange car in the driveway. Dean frowned and followed Aziraphale inside.

“Hey Watchie!” said a feminine, delighted voice. “Hi there! Hi! Yes, who’s a good Hellhound? Who’s a good Hell-puppy? I think it’s you! I think it is!”

Watchdog barked and Dean wondered what the Hell his life had become.

“Ms. Lopez?” called Aziraphale. At least somebody knew what the Hell was going on.

“Aziraphale! Hi!” A woman rushed at them from the living room. She threw her arms around Aziraphale and squeezed him. “You must be Dean!” she added, and lunged for him.

Dean made a kind of _eek_ noise, but she got her arms around him anyway, warm and soft, and she squeezed him like he was a tube of toothpaste. She stepped back. “I’m Ella,” she said. “I belong to Lucifer. Or he belongs to me. Not sure how that works, really. You’re one of Castiel’s humans, right? The hunter?” She bounced.

“Uh, yeah,” said Dean. “I’m sorry, did you say _Lucifer_?”

“Uh-huh! He’s totally freaked, Aziraphale,” Ella added. “He did some—I don’t know, some Lucifer thing and he says the sky is all dark? Like there’s supposed to be other universes and there’s not? He told me he tried to call Crowley, but Crowley didn’t pick up, so he sent me here to tell Crowley that it confirms what Castiel was saying. He’s not leaving that house, and I think he wanted me to check on you because he told me to come in person, because Crowley didn’t answer his phone. He’s really worried - feathers are all sticky-uppy so he’s, like, a mess. Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

Aziraphale looked at Dean. Dean looked at Aziraphale. Dean had no idea what the Hell was happening.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “But it is not a good story, or a kind one, and it paints a rather poor picture of the Lady God, you understand. It has to do with Nightmare World.”

“Well, that’s never good,” Ella sighed. “No offence,” she said to Dean. “Where’s Crowley? Wait, if you’re here, is Castiel here? I haven’t met him yet!”

“They’re flying, dear,” said Aziraphale. “Crowley probably didn’t answer his phone because he was in the air. He’s in a bit of a temper.”

“ _Crowley_ ’s in a temper? Cuddly Crowley? Is that even possible?” Ella asked.

“Looks like,” said Dean. Cuddly? Seriously? Dean would use a lot of words to describe Crowley, but cuddly wasn’t one of them. People kept telling him about all the great things that Crowley had done, but all Dean kept seeing was a douchebag.

Ella gave him a weird look. “So, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to meet you! But Nightmare World guys don’t usually show up unless it’s really bad.”

“It’s really bad,” Dean said dryly.

“Great,” Ella said, equally dry. “What did Lucifer mean by everything’s dark?”

“The other universes,” Aziraphale said gently. “There are alternate universes, an infinite amount. The Lady God has been destroying them.”

“Uh,” said Dean, “Lady God?”

“In this universe, God is neither male nor female,” Aziraphale explained. “Different for everybody, you understand. I have always seen a Woman.”

“Huh,” said Dean. “At home he’s a dude. Named Chuck.”

“Chuck,” Ella said. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” said Dean.

“And he’s—destroying alternate universes?” Ella said. “Why?”

“He wants me to kill my brother,” said Dean.

Ella stared at him. “No,” she said. She sounded upset. She also sounded like she knew the gravity of it, the anathema of this demand. Maybe she had brothers, too.

“’Fraid so,” said Dean.

“And he’s just—killing everyone—because you won’t--?”

“Vengeful bastard, ain’t he,” Dean shrugged.

“No,” said Ella again, shaking her head. “No, that can’t be—that can’t be—”

“That is just how I feel, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed. He patted her shoulder. “But they have been saying as much from Nightmare World, and now you say Lucifer has confirmed it. That the lights of the other worlds—they are going out.”

Ella put her hand over her mouth, eyes huge. “What about us?” she whispered.

“That’s where it gets interesting,” said Dean. He was about to explain more when there was one of those loud Enochian bird-screams, and two thumps.

“Aziraphale!” cried Cas. He sounded panicked, panicked enough for Dean’s breath to catch. Without another word, Aziraphale bolted from Dean’s side, and Dean was hot on his heels. He didn’t like that note of fear. Behind him, Ella scrambled to keep up.

Cas was standing on the house’s large deck, with Crowley leaning on his shoulder. Crowley was breathing hard, slumped. He looked—wrong. Cas held him up, wild-eyed.

“Crowley!” gasped Aziraphale and lunged for him. “What happened?”

Crowley made a traumatized hiccoughing sound.

“I’m sorry,” Cas blurted. He sounded frantic, but to Dean’s relief he looked unharmed. He was fidgeting his wings on his back nervously but didn’t seem to be in pain. “I know you don’t kill angels here, but he attacked Crowley, and I didn’t know how else to stop him.”

“Who,” Aziraphale demanded, dark and surprisingly dangerous, running his fingers through Crowley’s feathers.

“I think it was Turiel,” Cas said. “I am unsure. It’s difficult—the parallels—Aziraphale, I am _sorry_ —” He sounded terrible, like he’d broken something sacred. It kind of made Dean want to swaddle him in a blanket. Since when did Cas freak out so hard about killing angels who attacked him?

Aziraphale hushed him. “If an angel attacked Crowley, I would do the same. Crowley, where is the wound, my dear? Let me see.”

Crowley made a whining sound that even Dean knew was bad. He lifted one of his wings. Dean had literally just learned angel anatomy this morning: most of his tertiaries had been torn out, and there was a vicious slash in the skin beneath, like someone had tried to cut off his wing midair.

Aziraphale made a horrible sound somewhere deep in his chest, the polar opposite of a happy thrum. “Alright,” he said hoarsely. “Alright. Fold it back, darling. I have you.” He pushed the wing folded again. And again, things Dean learned just this morning: that was supposed to be a relaxing move. Crowley nodded, breathing hard, and leaned forward to put his forehead on Aziraphale’s shoulder. It was a surprisingly vulnerable gesture from the same demon who had shouted at Dean just an hour ago.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale breathed. He was shaking a little as he wrapped his arms around Crowley, taking his weight from Cas. “Pigeon. Thank you. You very likely saved his life.”

\--------------

[1] Aziraphale was trying rather desperately to teach her that life without her llama was not terrible, and sometimes left it behind for short walks if he could, with varying success.

[2] But unlike Crowley, Aziraphale could in fact see that Dean returned Castiel’s affections, rather desperately. He definitely, genuinely, cared. This left Aziraphale to conclude that perhaps Dean was simply stupid or lacking in information. Angry though he was, Aziraphale rather thought that arming the boy with some information might help. He’d taken to the preening like a duck to water, after all.

[3] This was a blatant lie. Aziraphale was terrified about the end of the world! This was a much better distraction!


	10. Chapter 10

Cas’s feathers had ruffled up and he was clenching his fists, eyes fixed on Aziraphale, love and loyalty shining from every pore. Cas had looked at Dean like that before, Dean thought. It was weird seeing it directed at someone else.

“Always,” said Cas fiercely, a vow. “What can I do?”

“You can call Amenadiel,” Aziraphale said. “Do not call Lucifer just yet. This is an act of war, and Lucifer has been so on edge that we risk him responding as such. Amenadiel will know what to do, and Amenadiel will be able to tell us why.”

Cas nodded. “Alright.” He looked at Dean and tilted his head, indicating that they should go outside. Ella followed, and they left Aziraphale to care for Crowley. Everything from his protective posture to his flashing eyes told Dean that this was exactly what Aziraphale had wanted. He trailed behind Cas, back out the front door. Once they were out, Cas hid his wings. Cool trick. 

“Hi,” Ella told Cas when they were out on the lawn. “I’m Ella. Thank you for saving Crowley.” She threw her arms around Cas’s neck, much as she had done to Dean.

“Ella,” Cas said slowly, awkwardly patting her back. “You’re one of Lucifer’s.” How did he know that?

She gulped and stepped back. “Yeah. Who would do this? Crowley would never hurt anyone!” Suddenly she straightened. “Is there a body? The angel you killed, I mean. I’m a forensic scientist. Maybe there’s a clue.”

Cas cocked his head thoughtfully. “It’s not far from here,” he said slowly. “Let me call Amenadiel about this, and then we’ll—investigate.” He looked at Dean, questioning.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “If this is weird, let’s check it out.” That, at least, was familiar ground.

“It’s really weird,” Ella said earnestly. “Angels don’t kill demons. I mean, not usually. There’s a whole truce. They pick fights but nobody _dies._ ”

That was like, unheard of back at home, nobody dying. But sure.

Cas pulled out his cell phone, and suddenly Dean understood who all those other numbers in there were. He kept Daydream World phone numbers. Just in case he found his way back. He really cared about these people. Well, that was obvious, but it was still hitting Dean, with each new bit of evidence.

He’d saved the life of a demon, not out of convenience or because he needed him for some plan—but to save his life. That same demon got into a shouting match with Dean because he was worried Dean was treating Cas poorly.

Dean was annoyed with that demon. But he could see that the life was worth saving. Demon with a good soul. Who knew?

“Forensic scientist, huh,” Dean asked Ella.

“Oh, yeah! I work murder cases with Chloe and Lucifer,” she said.

“Lucifer works murder cases,” Dean echoed.

“Uh-huh. Mostly he does it because he likes following Chloe around like a puppy, you know, but I think he really started to actually like it for what it was.”

“Murder?” Dean asked, wry.

“No!” Ella rolled her eyes. “Helping people. Catching the bad guy. He’s got a thing about punishing the guilty.”

_Saving people. Hunting things._

That was weirdly familiar. “You know,” Dean said dryly, “the Lucifer that I knew liked to explode people.”

“The Lucifer that you knew was crazypants,” said Ella, very seriously. “Ours is different.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” said Dean.

“Probably because our Lucifer is the best Lucifer,” she said with a grin.

Charlie. That was it. She was reminding him of Charlie, a little, minus the red hair and the computer stuff. He—liked her, Dean thought. Weird.

Cas came back over, having hung up. “He is—very alarmed,” he said. “He’s taking Michael and they're going to go to Heaven to investigate from there. He doesn’t know who gave that order or why. I do not know who is dangerous in this Heaven; I’m told that Uriel is dead.” He sounded worried.

“Zachariah is the douchebag that took Raguel’s wings,” Ella said.

“He was a douchebag in our world, too,” said Dean[1].

“Huh,” said Ella. “And I know Gabriel’s been bullying Aziraphale since time immemorial, so he’s on my shit list, too. And Sandalphon, he did Gomorrah. Michael picks on Lucifer so I owe him a knuckle sandwich, but otherwise he doesn’t hurt people, provided you don’t pick a fight with him[2].”

Michael had been wearing overalls and nothing else when Dean had met him. And he smelled like pie. That was just wrong. Dean didn’t comment. “Where’s the body, Cas?” he asked.

“Not far,” said Cas. “This way.” He set off on foot.

“Hang on!” called Ella. She raced over to her car. It was—well, it was lame, especially for someone as cheerful as Ella. She drove a dark gray Volvo wagon 740, looked like 1991. Dean would have pegged her for something newer and chirpier. “I have some gloves and stuff in here. Or you guys can hop in, if you want!” she said over her shoulder.

Dean exchanged a glance with Cas, and they got into Ella’s car. The interior was very tidy, and weirdly nicer than the exterior, seats leather instead of felted. The console was nice, too—it looked more modern than the rest of the car, like she’d had it replaced. Weird.

It was a short drive. The body of the angel was in a tree, blue-and-silver wings stretched limply, long enough to almost reach the ground. Its head was lower than its feet, and strange, silver-colored something oozed slowly from its mouth. Cas had stabbed it through the heart, because he was nothing if not precise, Dean thought with a weird kind of pride. 

“Oh, no,” whispered Ella, stopping the car mid street. She swallowed. “That’s—I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

It was a weird thing for Dean, but definitely not sad. He watched Ella put a hand over her mouth.

“Divinity,” Cas said suddenly. “Divinity works differently here, doesn’t it? It affects you more deeply if you’re not used to it. Lucifer doesn’t show you his wings very much, does he?”

“No,” whispered Ella, eyes fixed on the body.

“Will it help if I keep mine out?” Cas asked. “Or if I remind you that he was trying to kill Crowley?”

“The second,” Ella said, firm. “Say it again.”

“He was trying to kill Crowley,” said Cas.

Dean watched her face harden, fascinated. “Trying to kill Crowley,” she said. “Right. Okay. Let’s do this.” She took her foot off the break, and she guided the car to a parking spot.

“Divinity is different here?” Dean asked. He hadn’t noticed anything.

“Aziraphale says it takes some getting used to for humans,” said Cas with a shrug. “You’ve been exposed to it a great deal.”

Yeah, no kidding. Dean got out of the car.

It felt like a case. Cas was at his side and he didn’t have Sam, but Ella was there, a bit subdued because of the dead angel.

And it was a sight. At home when angels died, they left sooty impressions of wings, great and splendid on nearby surfaces, but here there were _actual_ wings. Spread awkwardly, dead limbs, hanging from the tree. And the thing was, Dean had just learned all about wings. He’d just preened Cas’s wings this morning. He knew feathers were soft, except the blades which were awesome. How Cas went all puddly and sleepy. How he thrummed. Wings were _good_ in a way Dean couldn’t articulate. You never got that, really, with burnt impressions in gravel, or whatever.

Ella was right, he thought, looking up at the dead angel. It was kind of sad. Had someone preened this guy’s wings; had he gone soft and sleepy? Not that Dean particularly liked angels who weren’t Cas, but still.

“Okay,” Ella said, shaky. “We’re not looking for cause of death, because we know cause of death. We’re looking for who might have sent him. Castiel, can you get him out of the tree for me? I can call it in to work like he’s a John Doe, make sure Chloe or someone gets the case. Human laws don’t apply to angels, right?” She gave a wobbly smile.

“I can also transform the body, afterward,” Cas said. “Into something innocuous.” He cocked his head. “It’s not in a vessel—I can manipulate it.”

“What do you mean, not a vessel?” Dean asked.

“Angels make their own bodies here,” Cas said. “They don’t need vessels. I’ve been told not to tell Lucifer about my vessel, that he would take it badly.” He smiled wryly.

“What do you mean, vessel?” Ella asked, mimicking Dean’s tone. She frowned. “I feel like Crowley mentioned this, once.”

Cas nodded. He gestured with one hand, and the dead angel untangled itself from the tree and drifted down to the grass. “An angel of our world must possess a human body in order to walk the earth. We cannot make our own, as they can here. This has to do with something called the Hall of Being; it burned in our world, but not in this one. My vessel was a man called Jimmy Novak. He was killed by Lucifer.”

“That’s awful,” Ella said. “No wonder you were so scared of our Lucifer.”

Cas set the angel carefully above the grass, floating in the same position it had been in the tree. Now that was a neat thing he never did at home. “Yes,” Cas said. “Though yours is quite different. Far kinder.” He smiled a little.

Ella beamed back at him. “He’s much kinder! He doesn’t kill people, for one. Pretty low bar. Also, he loves Chloe. He loves her _so much._ He would move worlds for her.”

“I know,” Cas said.

“Right, that’s an angel thing,” she said. She pulled on a blue exam glove that she seemed to have produced from thin air. “Let’s get this party started.” She strode up to the dead angel.

“Angel thing?” Dean asked Cas.

Cas nodded. “It’s an extra sense in this world. It’s strange to get used to. We can sense when something or someone is beloved. Your car, for instance,” he said, a little sly. “If it were here, I would be able to feel how you love it.”

“Are you knocking my baby?” Dean said, warning.

“Not at all, Dean,” Cas replied, a twinkle in his eye.

“Castiel,” called Ella. “Was the stab wound the only contact you had with this angel?”

Cas blinked. “Yes,” he said.

“Look at this.”

Dean and Cas walked over. She had manipulated the angel’s arm so they could see it. The forearm was bruised and slashed all to Hell. “Defensive wounds,” said Ella. She raised her arm as if protecting her eyes from an invisible blow. “And there’s some kind of—” She reached into her purse, rummaging. She pulled out a pair of tweezers. “Never know when these’ll come in handy,” she said lightly, and used the tweezers to pull something out of one of the wounds.

It seemed to be made of light, almost glass but not quite solid, or at least not solid to the human eye. She grasped it with the tweezers well enough, anyway. “What’s this?” she asked.

“That’s part of the First Sphere,” Cas said, shocked.

“The what?” asked Dean.

“One of the Nine Spheres of Heaven,” said Cas. “This is the lowest one, the one closest to Earth. They are somewhat solid. Rather like glass. Dean, you have only experienced the Fifth Sphere of Heaven—it is the place for righteous warriors.” He smiled at Dean, a little[3]. “He must have crashed right through. Ella, can you tell if he flew through, or if he was thrown into it?”

“He flew through,” Ella said, right away. “These wounds are minimal and deliberate. If he had fallen, or otherwise been out of control, the wounds would have been greater and more scattered. Look, there’s no shards in his wings. He must have pulled them in close. He was diving.”

“Okay,” said Dean. Forensic scientist. Very handy. They needed to befriend one of those. Imagine what a forensic scientist could tell, if they knew about various monsters? Could cut out so much research. “So, he was diving out of Heaven. Didn’t use the pearly gate, so maybe he was breaking out? Rogue angel?”

“Would a rogue angel just attack Crowley?” Ella asked. “That doesn’t seem likely. He’s Lucifer’s Left Hand. Attacking him is like attacking Lucifer. It’s an act of war, and Heaven and Hell have a truce.”

“They have a truce?” Dean asked. He already knew this, but he wanted more information.

“Oh yeah,” said Ella, examining the body. “Crowley wrote it. Amenadiel and Lucifer both signed it, and Michael and Maze witnessed it. It was super-duper official. Wings and everything.”

“What is it with this universe?” Dean muttered.

“It’s much better,” said Cas.

“Yeah, it’s better! What the Hell, man!” Dean scowled. “Why is ours such _crap_?”

“Because Love is always better than Hate,” Ella chirped, like that made any sense. “That’s the difference, you know. Our Universe got Love. Yours got Hate. Bada-bing-bada-boom, better universe.”

“What the Hell are you even talking about?” Dean sighed.

Ella stretched out one of the angel’s wings. She petted the first primary – the one that was sharp on Cas. Dean was about to warn her when he realized she knew perfectly well what she was doing. “Not a top-tier angel,” she said. “No sharpened feathers. Aaaaand—” She touched the joint of the wing, where the wrist would be. Her gloved fingers came away silver. “They don’t bleed red unless they hang out on Earth,” she explained, and that was—different. Dean looked to Cas, who nodded.

“Angels make their own bodies, here,” he murmured, again. “They only bleed red if they know that blood is meant to be red. Otherwise it is generally silver.”

“Weird,” said Dean, reevaluating the body. The silver marks were blood – okay, then. There was silver in weird places, though, he thought – the stab wound, of course—that made more sense—and the mouth, but also—

“Oh, everything’s weird,” Ella was saying without looking up. “He’s bleeding in his joints,” she added, and Dean had noticed that too. It was hard against the silver feathers, but there. “That’s odd. Castiel, you didn’t do that, right? This is from before he died.”

“No,” said Cas. He frowned. “That—can occur if an angel of high standing focuses too hard on an angel of much lower standing. The equivalent may be a shouted order – if an archangel were to shout an order too harshly on a lower angel, his some of joints might bleed a little[4]. It—happened often, in Nightmare World.”

“To you?” Dean asked, frowning.

“Sometimes,” said Cas. “Michael, once, long ago. It is not serious, and it heals very quickly, though it does sting.”

“It heals quickly?” Ella asked.

“Yes.”

“How quickly?”

“Perhaps—sometime between one and two hours. It may differ in this world, though.”

“So someone ordered him to do this,” Ella said, right away. “Someone very high ranking. The blood is not even dry, so it was not long before he died.”

Forensic scientist, Dean thought again, impressed. They so needed one of those.

“So,” said Dean. “Someone yelled at him and he jumped to the order – so fast that he didn’t bother with the pearly gates and smashed through the First Sphere.”

“That’s—still unusual,” said Cas. “I have never heard of an angel who broke through a Sphere[5]. Perhaps it is different here, but it is—not done, at home.”

“Hang on.” She took off her gloves and pulled out her phone.

“Who are you calling?” Cas asked.

She dialed. She put the phone to her ear. “Hi Lucifer!”

Dean sputtered. What the hell? He thought they weren’t telling Lucifer anything about this!

“Yeah, I’m here with Castiel and his human, got a quick angel question for you,” she said casually.

“I have a name,” Dean muttered sullenly. Cas spared him an amused look but didn’t comment.

“Is there anything that might make an angel crash through the First Sphere?” There was a pause. She frowned. Her frown deepened. “Lucifer?” A beat. “Lucifer, you okay?” Another beat, and her eyes widened. “Oh my god is this a Fall thing? It is. It so is. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—” He interrupted her, clearly.

“I meant besides a Fall,” she said softly. “Like, say, an order.”

She listened. She frowned. “Pretty big order,” she said slowly, like she was commenting on something. “Oh,” she added with a nervous laugh, “You know, just came up in conversation. No, really.” She looked desperately at the dead angel. “Yep, totally normal conversation about angels busting out of Heaven. We’re, uh, in a park. You know. Chatting? I told Crowley about the universes, and the light. It sounds pretty bad.” She listened. She smiled. “We’ll figure it out, buddy,” she said earnestly. “We’re the best and the brightest, right? We’ve got Angel Network and the Nightmare Universe guys on it! They’ve faced worse stuff than this. We’ve got this.”

She listened. She smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “Later.” She hung up.

“You literally just called Lucifer,” said Dean, stunned. She’d called him without any fear, too, and he hadn’t like, popped into being threatening to murder them all, either.

“Yeah, and he says it’ll take an act of God, or an order from God, to make an angel crash through a Sphere like this.” She nodded at the angel. “So, what am I looking at?”

An act of God. An act of God to violate a treaty to start a war that could end in the apocalypse—

Chuck was destroying alternate worlds.

“The end of the world,” said Dean darkly. “You’re looking at the end of the world.”

\--------------

[1] He was a douchebag in every world. Some things were constant. Chuck had a weird sense of humor.

[2] Ella perpetually owed Michael a knuckle sandwich. She wasn’t stupid enough to pick a real fight with an archangel, but she did glare at him a lot. _Ojete_.

[3] Ella kind of wanted to know what the Hell Castiel meant by _experienced Heaven,_ but she let it lie. It was probably something terrible. Poor Nightmare World.

[4] Bleeding was the physical, human translation, of course. Without a body the effect was quite different, though no less unpleasant.

[5] Aziraphale had cracked the sixth one, once, when they’d removed his hindwings with his demotion. It had been exceedingly unpleasant.


	11. Chapter 11

“We have to go to Lucifer,” Ella had said, insistent. “If you won’t, I will. He’s gonna freak, but he has to know.”

“Ella, it’s an act of war,” Cas told her. “Surely he will retaliate.”

“Not if it’s what—what Chuck wants.” She gulped, clearly unable to bring herself to say _God._ “Lucifer always does the opposite of what He wants. But if we don’t tell him, he might jump into a war without knowing all the facts and—well—” she gulped again.

Cas looked like he was actually considering this. What the Hell? “Cas,” Dean hissed. “ _Lucifer_ , Cas?” This Lucifer had sung so Dean didn’t go nuts in Hell, and he’d cuddled that Chloe Decker with his big white wings and Ella didn’t seem afraid of him, but he was still _Lucifer_.

“He is very different here,” Cas said, almost absently, like Dean hadn’t heard this about a thousand times. “I’d like to consult Aziraphale. And—check on Crowley,” he added, abruptly sounding worried. “Will you give me enough time to do that, Ella?” he asked.

Ella chewed her lip. “Alright. What do we do with--?” She looked at the body.

“Have you gotten all you can from it?” Cas asked her gently.

She nodded. “I think so,” she said, but she said it with confidence.

Cas snapped his fingers. The body shrank into a pebble. He picked it up and pocketed it. 

“That was _weird,_ ” blurted Ella. “Lucifer never does stuff like that. Also, like, now isn’t there a dead angel in your pocket?”

“Yes,” said Cas.

“What even _is_ Nightmare World that that doesn’t bother you?” Ella blurted.

Dean was kind of starting to get the hang of this. “It’s terrible,” he said gruffly and frankly it was: he was starting to see why Cas liked this place so much, Crowley shouting at him notwithstanding.

“No kidding! You should stay here.” Ella nodded to herself, like that was her final decision.

Cas chuckled. “Someday, I will,” he told her.

“Good,” she said. She started the walk back to her Volvo, parked at the curb. Dean shared a glance with Cas, and they piled into the car, Dean in the front and Cas in the back. To Dean’s absolute surprise, the moment the doors closed, she _floored_ it right back to Crowley’s place, far more urgently than before. The car lunged forward unexpectedly, and they hurtled down the quiet street. 

That was not—that was not the original engine. There were way too many horses in there.

“What--?” Dean blurted.

“Made some modifications,” said Ella, eyes on the road. “Not _strictly_ speaking legal but you’d really have to go looking to find it.”

Dean gaped at her, and then he laughed. A sleeper car! It was a sleeper car! The exterior was a boring old Volvo, but she’d changed the interior! Of course! That was why the console was so modern, why the seats were so cushy. It purred like a kitten. He felt himself start to grin with delight. Ella Lopez was full of surprises. “What modifications?”

“No way am I telling you,” she asked, coy. “No _way._ Car man?”

“1967 Impala,” Dean said proudly. The sleeper car took an elegant, perfect hairpin turn, hugging the road. He was far more impressed than he had been when he first saw it.

She actually had the nerve to scoff. “Not a racer, though.”

Good feelings gone. Dean glared at her and spluttered, insulted.

“She’s Dean’s pride and joy,” said Cas from the back, sounding startled, over Dean’s outraged noises.

“To each her own. Beautiful, it’s true, but the thing’s a boat; you’ll barely get out of a driveway. A Hellcat, though,” she said, a little dreamy.

“No,” said Dean, abruptly switching gears entirely. “Where the Hell did you get one of those?”

She glanced at him. “You know. Around,” she said, mischievous. “Best car ever. The acceleration on that thing.” She went a little wistful, but then cleared her throat and added, nervous, “Gave it back, though. I’m on the straight and narrow, now. I don’t do that stuff anymore.” She pulled them into Crowley’s driveway.

Dean was now about sixteen times more interested in her than he had been before. “Hate to break it to you, sister, but you drive a sleeper car.”

“Ugh, because the Volvo was _crap_ ,” she said, impatiently. “I can fix things if they’re crap, right?”

Dean laughed, delighted. “I have to know what you did. I _have to_.”

“Oh, few little things go a long way,” she said, cheery. She turned off the ignition. “I can get parts really easy, you know, just small stuff.” She smiled, mischevious.

“Like an engine,” said Dean, a tease. She definitely had a different engine in there. 

“You know. Small stuff.” She grinned. Dean hooted a laugh. He hadn’t expected her to confirm it!

“Lucifer better treat you right,” Dean said, as he got his breath back. He got out of the seriously cool car, resisted his urge to look under the hood, and followed her inside, Cas at his back.

“Oh, he’s the best friend ever,” she was saying lightly. “Never mind that he’s the best to hang out with—he tells great stories, and he really listens, you know?—anyway, I get free drinks at Lux. That’s his night club. He also gives the _best_ hugs—he’s a squirmer, but once he relaxes, he’s super warm and heartfelt. His advice is pretty bad, to be honest, but he means well.”

“Lucifer gives good hugs,” Dean echoed as they got to the front door. Inside, Watchdog barked once, twice. 

“Oh, yeah,” Ella said brightly. “He’s the best in general.”

“He is very different from our Lucifer, Dean,” Cas said, a little apologetically. 

“You keep saying that,” muttered Dean. He pushed open the door.

Watchdog was standing on the other side, of course. She wagged her tail.

“Hi Watchie!” said Ella. “We’re here to see Crowley; where is he?”

Watchdog whined, but she turned around and started walking. Ella followed her without a thought, though Dean exchanged a glance with Cas before going after her.

Watchdog led them up some stairs and to what was clearly the master bedroom. When Dean peered into the door, Aziraphale looked up. He was sitting beside a great bed, with a weird kind of extension on it[1] that held up a black feathered wing. When his eyes met Dean's, he _hissed_ , an angry bird-sound that had Dean taking a startled step back. What the Hell?

Cas stepped up to Dean’s side, and he spoke in low, soft Enochian. Dean caught the words for _companion,_ and _peace_ and _concern._

“Who _dares?_ ” growled another voice.

Stepping from the master bathroom, another angel, shirtless, olive skinned with great orange wings, glared at Dean out of deep dark eyes. Those wings rose a little and fluffed out, an aggressive move if Dean ever saw one, for all that the guy was wiping his hands on a tiny little towel. He was kind of familiar, too. This one had met them in Hell, hadn’t he?

“Belial,” said Aziraphale, softly. His voice was tight, like he was deliberately controlling himself, like it cost him will. “It’s alright. You remember Castiel? Castiel is a friend, and the two humans are with him. Don’t attack.” This coming from the guy who had _hissed_ a second ago, honestly, Dean thought. 

The feathers smoothed, and those dark eyes went to Cas. “Castiel,” he said, low like a growl.

“Belial,” said Cas cordially. “What are you doing here?”

“Crowley is my master,” said Belial, lifting his chin. “I came to help.”

“You’re doing a wonderful job, dear,” said Aziraphale, and Belial brightened considerably[2].

 _Crowley_ was his master? What the hell? Wasn’t Crowley a demon? Dean made to take another step forward.

Aziraphale hissed again, eyes flaring blue. “Do not,” he said sharply, “enter this room. I assure you, it will be the very last thing you do.”

“Aziraphale,” Castiel said, not at all alarmed for some reason.

“I do not do well when my demon is injured. I am aware that you love that human, Castiel, but I do not. He is a _hunter_. He _kills_ demons. Trust takes time. Dean Winchester, if you would please wait in the hall.” It was not a question.

Oddly enough, this stung. He and Aziraphale weren’t friends exactly, but Aziraphale was helping with the dowel thing. He’d taught Dean how to preen Cas, just this morning.

Cas looked at Dean apologetically.

Whatever.

“Fine,” Dean muttered.

“C’mon, Dean,” said Ella, nudging him away from the door. She looked sympathetic. “Let’s wait downstairs and let the angels do their angel thing.”

Dean spared one more glance to Cas, concerned. But Cas nodded, and he was clearly not afraid. So, he followed Ella down the hall, and Watchdog followed them both.

It occurred to Dean as they reached the stairwell, that Watchdog wasn’t so much following them as monitoring them. She wasn’t bouncing and wagging her tail like she had before. She was doing her job. She was watching them—being sure they didn’t attack her demon. She and Aziraphale were behaving as if Dean were the threat, here[3].

Weird.

“Who’s Belial?” Dean asked Ella as they got downstairs. “Is he—Angel Network?”

“Oh—no,” said Ella. “Belial’s Crowley’s secretary. In Hell, I mean. He’s a Greater Demon, like Crowley. Crowley apparently won him over by giving him a bunch of candy. Lucifer says that Belial is loyal to the bone once he likes you[4].” She shrugged.

“That was a _demon?_ ” blurted Dean. “Okay, look, no one’s explained this—what the Hell is a Greater Demon?”

“Oh! There are three different kinds. I guess you don’t have that in your world?” When Dean shook his head, Ella continued, “Well, a Greater Demon’s a Fallen Angel. So, Crowley and Lucifer and Belial are all Fallen, so technically they’re Greater Demons. Well, Lucifer’s an archdemon—like an archangel but backwards, right? I think Belial is too, come to think of it.”

That was a horrifying thought. “So, when angels Fall here, they become demons?”

“Kind of,” said Ella. “It’s complicated. But all Greater Demons are Fallen. Next there’s Lesser Demons, like Maze—Mazikeen—they’re made out of the firmament of Hell. Last is imps, which are human souls turned all twisted and wrong.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “One of my exes became an imp. Lucifer says it only happens if the soul is particularly corrupted. It’s against the law, in our Hell, to intentionally make imps. I’ve heard that your Hell is only imps?”

Three kinds of demons. That sounded damn exhausting. There were probably three different ways to kill them, too. Jeeze. “Yeah,” said Dean. “Only imps, I guess. Well, and Lucifer. We had a Lucifer, but he was a major dick.” Understatement.

Ella seemed curious. “What did he do? You keep saying he was a dick, and I’ve heard a few stories, but I don’t really know.”

Dean scowled. “He possessed my brother. He tortured my brother in Hell. He possessed Cas, too. He’s—killed more people than I can count. He tried to end the world, he—”

“Okay, so he’s a major douche,” Ella said, grimacing.

“ _Major_ douche,” Dean agreed. “Like, major.”

Ella swallowed and looked up the stairs. “What do you think we should do? About this. This apocalypse—thing. Everyone says you’re a professional.”

Dean gave a grim laugh. “Yeah, guess I am. I don’t know. I don’t know enough about this world. I’d go after Chuck, if I could. If I can. He’s the root of it all.”

“I can’t believe that,” Ella whispered. “I just—I can’t.” She reached up and touched her necklace—it was a cross.

“Believer?” Dean asked. She nodded. “Sorry,” he said, and didn’t know what else to add. Chuck was an asshole. There wasn’t much more to it than that.

Thing was, he liked Ella. She definitely reminded him of Charlie, and she was spunky and thrilled and she knew about cars. That she somehow—belonged—to Lucifer the way Dean belonged to Cas was incredibly confusing. Never mind that Dean had always thought Cas belonged to _him_ , and not the other way around.

“So,” he asked, “What’s your Lucifer like?” He hadn’t spoken to him for very long, after all. She’d said he was a good friend, that he listened, before, and that was—mind boggling.

She smiled. “He’s kinder than he thinks,” she said. “And he’s been in love with Chloe for so long that it kind of hurts. He follows her around like a puppy. He’s super generous, too, and he likes people a lot – you can always find him in the precinct making friends or trying to solve people’s problems. He doesn’t do favors in the precinct – I think Chloe told him not to – but he still helps. You can just—you can just tell how much he loves it here. Earth, I mean.“ Her smile went fond.

“Favors?” Dean asked sharply. That sounded an awful lot like a deal.

“Yeah. He does this favor thing. A favor for a favor. He fixes your problem, for a favor, and one day he comes back, asking you to return the favor.” She shrugged again. “He has some good stories about it, too. People ask for weird things. Like one time, this lady wanted this special kind of cat—”

The story washed over Dean. This favor thing didn’t sound good. “Souls?” he asked abruptly. “Does he collect souls?”

Ella shook her head. “No. He says all guilty souls go to Hell anyway; he’s got no reason to collect souls. Crowley says that some of the other demons do. Collect souls, I mean, but Lucifer’s never really cared one way or the other about it.”

Dean eyed her. That sounded too good to be true. 

“Boof,” said Watchdog, looking at the stairs. Dean followed her gaze.

Cas came down. His wings were tucked away, and he looked unhappy. “Aziraphale says to tell Lucifer,” he said quietly. “He says that we should go there in person.” He chewed his lip. “And, Dean—” He cast his eyes away. “If you’re willing to try that paradox, we should. He says that if Chloe is protecting us somehow, as Amenadiel suggested, it’s imperative to keep her safe.”

Dean nodded. He noticed that Cas said _us,_ like he was a resident of this universe. He didn’t correct him. “Alright,” he said, “I’m game.”

Ella made a squealing noise and hugged Dean. Dean gave her a weird look. “What?”

“Paradox!” she beamed.

“Okay?” he asked. She squeaked again.

“I’m driving!”

\-----------------------

[1] It was an ironing board with a pillow and a blanket on it.

[2] He wasn’t doing very much, truth be told. He’d got soup all over his hands—Aziraphale had made soup for Crowley, of course, because that was what you did when someone was not feeling well. Belial had promptly spilled it, but he'd cleaned up the mess, so there was that. He’d also brought a questionable five headed fish from the River Styx whose still-beating heart apparently had some Hellish something about good luck. It was enormous, nearly six feet long, and slimy and squirming. Aziraphale had quietly vanished that. He’d meant well, anyway.

[3] Not that Watchie would know what to do if Dean really did try to hurt her Crowley. It confused her when humans were the bad guys. She could watch him, though! She was good at watching.

[4] It was the getting him to like you that was the tricky part. Usually kindness did the trick, a strange, rare thing in Hell, but Crowley had won him over with sweets, too. Who knew?


	12. Chapter 12

Ella, of course, floored her sleeper car until they reached the highway, where they promptly got stuck in LA traffic. Dean glanced in the rearview, watching Cas fidget with apparent nerves. Was it Lucifer? Did he not want to see Lucifer? No, he seemed perfectly fine with Lucifer before, when Lucifer met them in Hell. Maybe Chloe? Dean had no idea. He’d never seen Cas nervous before, not really, not expressing it like that.

“Anything I should know?” Dean asked Ella. “About Lucifer and Chloe and this place?”

“And Trixie,” Ella said casually. “Trixie’s also there. Not really? I’ve already been. It’s a really nice place with a big giant yard and stuff. Their Hellhound, Shepherd, is there too. I think Lucifer’s trying to make it as comfortable as he can, if they’re going to be stuck there. I mean, not being able to work is gonna suck for both of them. Chloe and Lucifer love working. Also, like, income is a problem. Chloe has a ridiculous amount of time banked, but still.” They crawled forward.

“Surely Lucifer will help with that?” Cas asked from the back.

“I’m sure he will, but you know Chloe. She’s awesome and independent. She won’t like it. Besides, being cooped up anywhere with the same people is rough.”

“Not if you like them?” Cas asked. “I’ve stayed in the bunker for—weeks—?”

“With cases in between, though, dude,” said Dean. “Something to do.”

“I see,” said Cas, sitting back. “I’ll think on it, then. There must be a solution.”

“Yeah, Lucifer said you do strategy, right?” Ella asked, glancing in the rearview. They inched closer to their exit.

“Yes,” said Cas. “Or, rather, I did. Before everything went wrong.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry everything went wrong, Castiel. You should definitely stay here. Less things went wrong here.”

Cas chuckled. “Someday,” he said, “someday.”

Cas’s retirement plan. It filled Dean with a weird kind of peace and sorrow to know that Cas had one. Who would have thought? Sam’s didn’t work out, Bobby’s didn’t work out, nobody’s worked out really but Cas—Cas had a good, solid plan and people who loved him. People who would live forever, and who were waiting for him, who he could return to any time he liked. Good.

Ella finally crept up on the exit, and they roared down the off ramp. What the Hell kind of engine did she even have in there? What would _fit?_ Small Corvette engine, maybe, he thought. Turbocharged, even. Dean was fairly certain her work was masterful. The car fairly purred. If he could just get a look under the hood—

They roared down a side street, and then another, and then another. Dean was pretty sure all LA suburbs looked the same. Finally, they pulled up on a patch of grass—an empty lot. Amenadiel was there, and so was Michael. Dean shared a look with Cas in the rearview and got out of the car.

Michael was sitting cross legged on the grass. His wings were out and slightly spread to allow for this; he had his hands on his knees palm-up, fingers in little circles like he was meditating or something. Just as before, he smelled like really good pie, and this was totally baffling to Dean. Did he eat pie when Dean wasn’t around? Or did he _bake_ pie?

Amenadiel was glaring at him.

“Uh,” said Ella, coming up alongside Dean. “Is he okay?”

“He’s trying to get in touch with our Father,” said Amenadiel. “When he knows perfectly well that our Father has not been in Heaven in _decades_ —”

“Shh,” said Michael, eyes closed. “I’m picking up on something. Feels like eggs.”

“Yes, the paradox, Michael!” Amenadiel cried. “The paradox hiding the house!”

“Shh,” said Michael, again.

“Ooooh-kay,” said Dean, eyeing Michael. He was definitely not like their Michael. “So, besides—that—” He waved a hand at Michael, not really having words for whatever was happening, “What are you doing here? Also, what are we doing here?”

“The house is hidden by those paradoxes,” Ella chirped. “But this is where they are.”

Dean looked around the empty lot. That was some pretty good warding. Lucifer had said there were demons in the street – Lesser Demons and Hellhounds – but he didn’t see anyone. “Okay, that’s one question.”

“Amenadiel,” Cas said. “It is—very good to see you again.” He walked up to Amenadiel and held out a hand. “I did not get the chance to say hello, the other day.”

Some of the irritation melted from Amenadiel’s face. He took Cas’s hand and pulled him in for a hug. “It’s good to see you again too, Castiel,” he said warmly. “Though I wish the circumstances were different.”

Dean watched Cas put his cheek against Amenadiel’s shoulder and give a heartfelt sigh. That was a surprising gesture of trust, though Dean chastised himself; he should know this by now. Cas trusted these people. “Me too. I know you spoke yesterday, but I’d like to introduce you to Dean?” He pulled back and beckoned Dean over. “Dean, this is Amenadiel. He’s the Eldest. He was also Eldest in our world, but he was killed in the first Rebellion; Michael took his place when Lucifer Fell. He is the highest-ranking angel in Heaven.” 

And he just gave Cas a hug. Like, a real hug. That was very different from home.

But also, some part of Dean thought, this was one Hell of an ally. He held out a hand.

“Good to meet you,” he said gruffly. “For real, I mean.”

Amenadiel shook his hand. “Good to meet you! We need more humans in Angel Network.”

So, like, that was weird. Big head angel liked humans. Go figure. “No offence,” said Dean, “But what are you doing here?”

“We’re here to tell you what happened in Heaven,” Amenadiel said heavily. “Why that angel attacked Crowley _without my authorization._ ” The last was a frustrated growl. “Nobody intended to break the treaty, except Turiel.”

“So, it _was_ Turiel,” said Castiel.

“He was given direct orders,” said Michael, from the grass.

“What?” Cas asked.

“Direct orders from Him Above,” said Michael. His eyes were still closed.

“Is this true?” Cas asked Amenadiel. They already knew this, of course, but it was good to hear it confirmed. Well, it was crap to hear it confirmed, actually, but still.

“Yes,” said Amenadiel sadly. “The order was loud enough that numerous angels heard it. This is—strange for Father, you understand. Normally he is specific and very precise. Generally, they go to Gabriel, frankly, but he heard nothing. It seems that the order only came through most clearly in the First Sphere. Reports said it was like he was shouting from somewhere distant, like he wasn’t even in Heaven. It affected Turiel the most; he crashed right through on his way down. There are several other lower angels who heard, and also want to follow the order: it was to kill Chloe and Beatrice or, failing that, to attack Crowley Snake-in-the-Grass, or Mazikeen of the Lilim. It was lucky you dispatched him, Castiel; he would have killed Crowley then hunted Maze, since he can’t get to Chloe or Trixie.”

“Maze would have killed him,” Cas said. Dean still wasn’t clear on who Maze was, besides a Lesser Demon.

“Yes,” said Amenadiel, “and there would have been war. You, however, are not of this universe, and you are also an angel. I won’t thank you for killing one of my brothers, but I believe that you saved us all.” He smiled, though it was a little strained. “But there are others who will want to follow this order. I cannot directly contradict an order from my Father, you understand,” Amenadiel said. “But I can keep the others occupied.”

“You also lied,” said Michael, amused, still on the grass.

“There’s that, too,” said Amenadiel. “I told them the deed had been done. That Chloe was dead[1].”

“It will cost you your wings if I can’t get in touch with Father,” said Michael. “I have no desire to be the Eldest, Amenadiel.” Now he opened his eyes and glared at Amenadiel. “I’ve seen what it does to me, in the other world. I don’t want to become that.” He closed his eyes again and took a big, showy breath. “I would rather die,” he said on the long, slow exhale.

“Michael,” Amenadiel said softly. “You won’t reach him.”

“Sometimes he answers,” Michael insisted. “He makes bets with me. We gamble all the time. _All the time_ , brother.” His voice wavered, distressed. “None of this makes sense.”

“You won’t reach him,” said Dean. “He wants to burn everything.”

Michael shook his head, eyes closed. “No. It can’t be. It _can’t_.”

“It is,” said Dean. “We heard from Lucifer—apparently he went up there and looked at the other universes, somehow?” He glanced at Ella, who nodded. “He said that they had gone dark. Because he’s burning them, man—Chuck’s burning them. And you’re next, unless we can stop it.”

Michael swallowed. He opened his eyes and fixed them on Dean, serious and sad. The pie smell intensified. What even was that? Smelled _great_ , anyway. Michael’s eyes were blue, blue as the sky, and deeply compelling. Dean could fall into those eyes. Was this a vessel thing? Could be. Felt like it was, like there was a pull there. This was enough to seriously freak Dean out, but Michael didn’t ask anything of him. Instead he deliberated.

His wings slumped. Then, at last, he said, “Chloe and her bloodline. They’re key. Blessed by Father, carried by Amenadiel, the strongest of us. They’re immune to Lucifer and to some degree, Father. They can’t keep Father out entirely, but they can make it harder for him to be here, for his orders to be heard. That is why only the First Circle heard him; he was blocked.”

Was this guy serious? Some chick could keep God away from a whole universe just by existing? Not that Chloe Decker had just been some chick when he met her, but still. How the hell did he even know that?

“How do you know that?” asked Ella, for the first time, kind of reading Dean’s mind. It was a great damn question, because this was crazy, even by Dean’s standards and that was saying something. He felt Cas shift his weight next to him, restless.

“I have the gift of foresight,” Michael told her kindly. “I know things, but they come to me in a—scattered manner. Also, I found the paperwork in Heaven[2].” He smirked a little, impish. “While Amenadiel was lying to angels[3], I found more information on the miracle that made Detective Decker. It was intended to make Lucifer human, or human enough to produce another Antichrist. But the power required for something like that—it affects other Celestials, too.”

Well, shit, Dean thought, that probably wasn’t good, but Michael continued and it kind of got worse.

“Sometimes I know things,” he said, “I can tell you: it affects our Father, as well. As long as Chloe or one of her bloodline are on this world, Father will remain absent.” He cocked his head at her. “You were in a car accident when you were small, and you made a friend.”

Ella’s eyes went huge. “Yeah?”

“Call her sometime,” said Michael. “She misses you.”

Ella swallowed.

“And it’s more than you think,” he added to Dean. Dean blinked at him.

“What?”

“The paradox. It’s more than you think. Everyone is explaining it poorly, though from stupidity, not malice. It’ll scare you. Don’t be scared. He’ll love you whatever you decide.” Now he turned to Amenadiel. “I will _not_ do battle against my Father,” he said, but he sounded heartbroken. “Please don’t ask me to.”

“No,” said Amenadiel, shaking his head. “No, I—I won’t either. But—” he thought about it, forehead wrinkling. “If we can stop him from coming here at all, if we can hide ourselves, perhaps we won’t need to.”

Michael thought about this. “An illusion, maybe,” he murmured. “If Lucifer and I faked a battle. If we fell down into Hell and hid.”

“Not Hell,” said Cas. He’d straightened. “The core of the Earth. The heat will distort His perception of you. And if you could perform a spell that radiated outward, mimicking an explosion—but how to hide the Earth afterwards?”

“Paradoxes,” said Amenadiel, right away. “They’re unnatural. I’m certain you could do an illusion with one.”

Cas nodded, slowly. He eyed the empty lot. “We need to speak with Lucifer,” he said.

“I need to consume as much beer as I can find,” muttered Michael. “This is terrible.” He stood up and brushed the dirt off himself. 

“I’ll come with you,” Amenadiel said. “I—need to think about this. Castiel,” he added. “Be safe. Send Crowley my best.”

“I will,” said Castiel. “How do we get in?” he asked, eyeing the doorway.

“Paradox,” said Ella. “The only people who can get in or out are the ones who did the paradox, or someone who goes in with them. Chloe came out to let me in, last time I was here.”

“Then we’ll take our leave,” said Michael.

Amenadiel nodded. Dean watched them walk off together down the lane, until abruptly they vanished, presumably flying away.

There was a brief silence. 

Cas gulped a little. “Ella,” he murmured. “Would you mind waiting in the car? I have never done this before, and I do not want—well—”

“Privacy! Got it! I’ll go pick up some lunch. Call me when you’re done!” She bounced away, back to her car. Dean watched her go, bemused. 

Cas shuffled his feet. Dean turned to him. 

“So,” he said. “Paradox, huh?”

Cas nodded.

“You have no idea how to do this, do you?” Dean asked, wry.

“Very little,” Cas admitted.

Dean huffed a laugh. “I barely even know what it is, man.” Cas opened his mouth to explain, looking concerned, and Dean interrupted him. “Union of two opposites, I know. So, how do we do it?”

Cas squinted at him. He held out a hand, palm facing Dean.

“You want me to high-five you?” Dean asked, skeptical.

“No,” Cas said. He rolled his eyes, “Just—” He reached out and, very gently, surprisingly gently, he took Dean’s wrist and pressed their palms together, before twining their fingers.

“Uh,” Dean said, eyeing their twined fingers. “Isn’t that a little—” he wanted a word that was like “chick-flicky” but couldn’t think of one. Cas’s palm was very warm, for a guy who wasn't technically human.

“Shut up,” said Cas. “Close your eyes. If this hurts, or if you are uncomfortable, _you tell me_ , do you understand? We will not do this if you do not want to.”

Dean nodded. He did want to do this, after all, though he said nothing because Cas seemed worried. He didn’t like to see Cas that worried, especially not about something that everyone else seemed to think was like, the ultimate good thing. Even Ella had been excited.

He closed his eyes. Cas squeezed his hand.

They stood there.

There was a long silence.

“Uh, Cas,” said Dean, starting to feel awkward.

“No pain?” Cas asked urgently.

“No nothing,” said Dean.

“What about now?”

“Nnnnnope.”

“Perhaps you should try reaching back,” said Cas stiffly[4].

“What does that even mean?” Dean spluttered.

Cas sighed. There was a rustling sound. Dean blinked his eyes open.

His fingers were still twined with Cas’s. Cas had unfurled his great wings, the wings that Dean had preened, and stretched them, just a little, as though shielding Dean from something[5].

They were really pretty wings, Dean thought abstractly, watching the feathers shift and move, alive. Brown on brown, they looked like the wings of a predator, some kind of hawk or falcon or something. A hunter.

“There you are,” Cas murmured. “I see. Think about fixing them, Dean. Think about how it felt.”

That was doable, because fixing them had been _awesome_. Like, way more awesome than Dean had expected. He’d learned that Cas’s wings had blades – how cool was that? – and how Cas’s powder down had coated his fingers. He’d fought with Crowley about that, but that wasn’t what he was doing here; he remembered pulling out the clumps, how Cas relaxed, and straightening the feathers, and how Cas relaxed more. It had been good, having Cas soft and sighing under his hands. He remembered how he went all puddly, how Aziraphale poked Cas ‘til Cas thrummed, what a good sound it was, how Dean could feel it in his chest—

He felt it in his chest.

It wasn’t like thrumming, it was a weird floaty feeling, just there near his heart. Kind of silvery, though of course he couldn’t see it. Dean balked at first, startled, but then Cas made a small sound in his throat, distressed.

“Dean?” he asked, anxious.

 _You’ll be scared,_ Michael had said.

Fuck that.

“What do I do?” Dean asked, just as hushed.

“It’s a union,” Cas whispered back. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he sounded a little anguished. “That’s _me_. You pulled back. Where are you?”

OH.

Got it.

Dean slammed his eyes shut, and he reached for that funny, silvery floaty thing. It was like—a little ball, or a little creature curled _into_ a ball. It was trembly all over. Cas couldn’t hide the anxiety this close, worries of pain or rejection, that he might hurt or coerce Dean by accident, that Dean might be frightened.

Dean was a little freaked out. But Michael had said he’d be scared, and fuck that guy, so he was determined to not be scared. Also, he didn’t like Cas this worried.

It was kind of hard to visualize, really. It was confusing. _It’s okay,_ he thought at Cas, on a suspicion that Cas could hear him. _It’s okay. You’re not hurting me._

Yep. Definitely heard him. The little ball uncurled, somehow, in his chest and in his mind’s eye, and wrapped itself around Dean like a very friendly snake. _YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO REACH BACK, DO YOU?_ Cas asked, way too loud.

 _No,_ thought Dean. _This is actually extremely confusing._

 _THINK ABOUT ME. THINK ABOUT FIXING MY WINGS, OR—OR QUIET DAYS IN THE BUNKER. TIMES WHICH—WHICH YOU MIGHT FEEL FOND OF ME?_ This was both very loud and very uncertain.

 _I’m always fond of you,_ Dean thought back, more honest than he intended.

A wounded sound. The feeling of being rejected, unwanted, excised, useless. Leaving, leaving, leaving.

Crowley was right, Dean realized, horrified. He had not been good to Cas.

 _NO,_ Dean told him, as loud as he could. He shoved everything forward—rage and pain and confusion, he was so bad at feelings, so bad, and they were sticky and they landed in all sorts of places they weren’t supposed to, even the people he loved best, and he was sorry, he was sorry, he was sorry, he _loved_ Cas, Cas was the best friend he’d ever had, more than a friend even though Dean still wasn’t sure what that entailed, Cas was family, _family family family,_ he must know that, he must—

Secret dreams of Cas living in the bunker full-time, always, without ever running off alone. Of being able to wake up in the mornings and see him there, the first person, before Sam, even. Singing along together to the radio in the Impala. Meals where Dean ate, and Cas sat with him. Playing games, watching movies, teasing, just to see the confused look on Cas’s face. Cas teasing _back,_ grave and solemn but with that twinkle that Dean secretly treasured. Hearing Cas sing, clear and bell-like as an angel, raspy and uncertain as a human; now it sat somewhere in the middle. Hunting together, winning, cleaning each other up. Wanting Cas near.

Wanting to be near. Wanting to be near always, wings folded close around this bright, marvelous little human—

Oh, wait, that wasn’t his thought—

And everything kind of went neon.

\--------------------

[1] This was an easier lie than one about Crowley: Lucifer’s Left Hand was part of treaties and things; he was more likely to be seen by officials. Chloe was mortal. Presumably.

[2] He broke into Raphael’s study, because Raphael kept records of this sort of thing. Amenadiel would never break into a room belonging to one of his brothers, but Michael had no compunction. Raphael was always annoyed with him, anyway; what was one more thing?

[3] Amenadiel muttered something uncomplimentary. That lie had saved all their skins!

Michael did have such fun teasing his eldest nestmate.

[4] Maybe he’d misinterpreted everything and this wouldn’t work because Dean didn’t want…?

[5] Mantling, of course, around his most precious human.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: Dean's got some internalized homophobia. But he's also kind of love-drunk and a goofball, so these thoughts should hopefully come off as kinda funny (Dean oh my god are you serious) rather than painful. Dean doesn't hate anyone; he's literally afraid. He's got lots of things to be self-loathing about, but falling in love with a man(shaped being) isn't one of them. He's just a pile of flailing question marks and mental gymnastics in this chapter. It's okay, he gets all the cuddles. 
> 
> Meanwhile Cas is alive by the skin of his teeth. He is also kind of stupid haha.

The world faded back in slowly. Someone[1] was making a bunch of noise nearby, and Dean ignored it. It was weird having a body again. It was _good_ having a body again, because his hand was still joined with Cas’s hand, and Dean never ever wanted to let go, even if it was dumb, even if it was the most chick flick thing to ever happen.

Paradoxes, he thought woozily. Paradoxes were _awesome._

That was _better than sex._

“Hoooooo,” said Dean, high pitched.

Cas actually giggled, and it was the best sound ever. Dean giggled back, unable to do anything but grip his hand.

“We should do that again,” said Cas, eyes bright with wonder. “Immediately.”

“No, you may not do that again immediately. I might vomit, and I would dearly like to give that particular human experience a miss.”

What the fuck ever. Dean didn’t drop Cas’s hand, but he did step up to Cas, closer, and buried his face into Cas’s shoulder. Jimmy’s shoulder, but those gorgeous wings came up around him right away, warm and feathery and _those_ were Cas. Dean leaned into him and nuzzled. Cas thrummed at him, and Cas should always be thrumming, always, every day. It resonated in Dean’s chest, the perfect sound.

The world was great. Every world was great.

Dean was totally high as a kite and he _did not care._ Even the _afterglow_ on this thing was amazing. Wow. They really did have to do it again immediately.

It occurred to him that he was comparing paradoxes to sex. To better-than-sex, actually. Cas was thrumming away at Dean, who suddenly wanted to make that sound back, because he was feeling all lovey and happy and content too, and Cas should know that. He tried, but it came out all wrong, and Cas giggled at him, also stoned.

Anyway. Did this count as sex? Felt like sex. Better than sex. Which begged the question – did Dean just have weird angel sex with Cas?

Apparently.

Did it count as gay if Cas was technically not a dude? Because he really, really wasn’t—Dean could see that now. Cas was a dude because Jimmy was a dude. Cas didn’t have a gender at all; he wasn’t human, and still didn’t really get it, though he tried. Cas was a fucking—a tornado, a hurricane, a force of nature. Forces of nature didn’t have genders. Cas should stop trying; he didn’t have to try just to fit, if he didn’t want to, if it didn’t come naturally[2]. Cas was awesome, and he seemed very snuggly, and right now he was the best thing in the world, so Dean snuggled.

This was why Cas was so bashful about the paradox, Dean realized in some corner of his mind. He knew it was like this. He’d tried to tell Dean it was like this but hadn’t had the words. Stupid Cas, he thought, very tenderly. Dean had even seen Crowley and Aziraphale like this and hadn’t made the connection.

Oooooo they’d played games, right? Games sounded awesome right now. What if they had _actual sex_ right now? Oh, wait, Cas was dude-shaped and Dean had made a lifetime out of shouting that he wasn’t gay to cover up the fact that he was way confused about the whole thing. Also, the body was Jimmy’s. Screw it. Jimmy was dead; it was just Cas in there and Cas was worth it. It would still be glorious. They’d figure it out.

“Helloooooooooooo! Anybody home!” said that other voice peevishly. “Castiel! Snap out of it!”

“No,” said Cas into Dean’s hair. “I will not.”

“I know you’re here for a reason,” said the voice. Dean burrowed closer.

“Angel attacked Crowley,” said Cas into Dean’s hair. His wings tightened around him protectively, and Cas’s other arm went around Dean’s waist, holding him close. It was awesome. Dean really liked those wings. They were soft and good and they were _Cas_. “Amenadiel says it was God’s order, and we believe God was attempting to start a war here, and an apocalypse. Dean, your hair smells wonderful.” 

“Your everything smells good,” Dean replied, muffled, and it was true. Dust and honey—not a Jimmy smell. Cas thrummed at him even harder, if that was possible.

“I’m sorry, did you just say Dad ordered an angel to attack my Left Hand as an act of war to start an _apocalypse_?” Lucifer screeched, because it was Lucifer, of course. “Is Crowley alright?”

“Mostly,” said Cas, cuddling Dean. Being cuddled was warm and comforting and all around excellent. “I killed the angel. Amenadiel says that Heaven does not want war. Crowley is injured. Left wing. Aziraphale is worried. I am also worried.” Cas suddenly went tense. “I am worried about Crowley,” he whispered into Dean’s hair. “I am also worried about Jack and Sam. I do not have everything I want, yet. Now is lovely, but it is not the time.”

That was weird.

“Cas?” Dean asked, bewildered.

“This is dangerous,” Cas whispered, pulling away a little[3]. “I never told you. I’m sorry. I will tell you.” He ran two fingers lightly through the fringe of Dean’s hair. Dean recognized the gesture, because he had done it; preening, as best as Cas could do since Dean had no wings. It was an absent gesture, a natural one. Cas didn’t have a lot of natural gestures; his mimicry of a human was still a little stilted, even after all this time. Of course, he wasn’t mimicking anything here. It made something in Dean’s heart twist.

He took a deep breath and stepped back. Dean felt a chill in the warm California day. He blinked at Cas, a little bewildered. He wanted to be close.

Cas’s eyes were still on him, and there was heartbreak there. There must have been a look on Dean’s face too—Dean felt weirdly devastated—because Cas’s eyes went round and worried. “It’s alright,” he told Dean, low and soft and a little crooning. “It’s alright. I’m not leaving. We have things to do. Right?” His wing brushed Dean’s side, affectionate and careful, mindful of the blade. This was also a natural gesture, fluid and graceful, a language Cas spoke with the other angels here, this strange language of wings. It helped. 

Things to do. Right. Right, of course. Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat. He released Cas’s hand. “Yeah,” he said. “Right—you’re right.” He shook his head, trying to clear it. It worked, but it hurt.

“Oh, dear.”

Dean looked up. Lucifer was standing on the porch of a great, sprawling Victorian house that definitely hadn’t been there before the paradox. Dean and Cas were on the front lawn.

“You need more time,” Lucifer said, looking back and forth between them. He hid his wings out, all ruffled and he looked _pissed_. “That was your first one, wasn’t it? It hurts to be apart, you know, after that first one[4].”

Yeah, Dean definitely felt it, like a tug to his heart. “We’re fine,” he said, gruff. He really was fine. It hurt, but he could walk away. There was work to do. Dean could work.

“Nope,” said Lucifer. “Come on. Up you get, chop-chop. Of course you’d do your first one _now_.” He scowled. “What the Hell does _mostly_ mean? That’s my good Left Hand they tried to murder!” The last was a growl. “I can’t go through _two_ in under a decade!”

Cas ignored him, so Dean did too. A little hesitant, he took Dean’s hand again. Oh, man, that touch did wonders for Dean’s heart. Gently, he tugged, and Dean followed him up the stoop and onto the porch of the place.

“His wing is injured but he is otherwise fine,” said Castiel.

Lucifer harrumphed, still looking beyond pissed, but he still led them inside.

The interior was beautiful, all modern furniture, wood floors and a clean paint job. Lucifer hurried them along up a curling, fancy staircase and then into what was clearly a bedroom.

“I will _not_ be manipulated into an idiotic war,” he seethed, ushering them inside. “I’m giving you a half hour. How _dare_ He?” He paused, glaring at the far wall as if collecting himself. “You’ll be useless if we try to do this right now. I certainly was right after my first one,” he added, still growling a little. “Stay together. And then I want a full report. Alright?”

“Alright,” said Cas[5]. He was still looking wistfully at Dean. Dean could probably give a report now, but Cas was gazing at him like he was the best thing he’d ever seen, and it was kind of making Dean feel wobbly somewhere in his stomach. Screw it. Dean would take that half-hour; reports could clearly wait, on wonderful, peaceful Daydream World.

“And if you have sex, keep it down,” Lucifer continued blithely. Dean choked. “The Detective says that it’s upsetting for the spawn, but the little urchin has shown no indication, so I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Apparently other people having sex is upsetting for humans, in some but not all circumstances,” said Cas.

“Absolutely baffling. I’m going now.” The door clicked shut.

Dean squeezed Cas’s hand. Cas squeezed back. “Come here?” Cas asked, small and tentative, and Dean went, without a word or even a thought of protest.

Oooh, the contact felt good. Screw it, screw the Jimmy issue though it was still an issue – he just wanted to be close. Cas’s wings came up around him, and so did his other arm. Dean wrapped an arm around his waist, hooked his chin over Cas’s shoulder, and Cas sighed.

Dean thought about what had happened. It had been awesome, and full of honest-to-Chuck joy; they’d definitely warded this invisible house, and its invisible contents, to the teeth. The place felt kind of saturated with them too, and there were others—Crowley and Aziraphale, he could feel them too, they felt like eggs, like raw eggs—was this why Crowley kept making eggs[6]? – and also Lucifer and Chloe, dusty, like the dust bunnies that lived under a couch.

This Lucifer was different. Cas, Crowley, and Aziraphale were right. If he could do this, could do the paradox, then there was no way he was like their Lucifer. Their Lucifer, Nightmare-Lucifer, could never dream to touch something like this, something so pure. Dean hadn’t thought of himself as pure in—well—ever, but that was what this was. It was pure in a way he couldn’t describe. 

Chuck couldn’t touch it either.

Dean let out a breath. “We’re going to win,” he whispered. With something like this? As strong and as good as this? There was no way bastard Chuck could ever beat them.

Cas didn’t need him to specify. “Yes,” he said. “We are.”

The thirty minutes passed slowly. Cas eventually got his coat off, and both of their shoes, and he tugged them to the bed. Dean was incredibly up for sex, because he wasn’t over Jimmy but hot damn he wanted Cas, but this was apparently the last thing on Cas’s mind. He pulled Dean close and stretched a wing over him. That was good. Wings were Cas and wings were good.

“I love you,” Cas said, slow and measured and staring into Dean’s eyes “I have since I met you, I think. It’s confusing. I don’t know its shape, or its size, or where it fits in me.”

The thing was. The thing was. Dean actually knew this. Cas had even said as much before. And he knew he loved Cas, too. And normally he wouldn’t find the words, but just now, safe under Cas’s wing—“I do too. Love you.” That was hard to say, but important. “And. And same. I’m not good at this stuff, Cas. I haven’t even been good to _you_.” He ducked his head, awkward.

Cas made a funny _prrt_ sound, an angel sound. “That’s in the past. That can change.”

Dean nodded against Cas’s throat. Jimmy’s throat—Cas’s throat. Whatever, the angel was the only one home. Cas’s throat. “Yeah. Yeah it can. It will. Promise.”

Cas put his cheek against Dean’s hair. “Does this mean you’re mine? Crowley says that one’s always special, and that’s you, but—”

“Yeah,” Dean interrupted, raspy. “It means I’m yours. And you’re also mine. Decker and Ella said it went both ways.”

“Dean,” said Cas, grave and soft. “I have been yours from the start.” His wing fluttered a little, pleased[7].

Dean pressed his nose into Cas’s neck, and he thought _oh, fuck it._ Fuck the Jimmy issue; Jimmy was dead and gone, and Cas was here and alive and it wasn’t really his fault he needed a vessel. Cas was in the driver’s seat and he really, really wanted _Cas_. Besides, Dean thought a little viciously to himself: Jimmy was just an excuse. Jimmy had never bothered him before. What Dean was _actually_ freaking out about was the dude-shape. Who cared if Cas was dude-shaped? Cas was Cas. And damn it all, but he really did love Cas. Had for a while. A long while.

He stretched back up, got a finger under Cas’s chin, and pulled him forward. Maybe this was a misstep and a huge mistake but fuck it, fuck everything—

The kiss was warm, and sweet and goddamned perfect, and everything Dean had misinterpreted or ignored for the past several years. It was like coming home[8].

Yeah. Paradoxes were the best.

_____________________________________

[1] Read: Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar was making a lot of noise nearby. Lucifer Morningstar had a lot of opinions about people doing gunpowder-and-pudding paradoxes on his front lawn, even if it did strengthen the wards. It was a good thing, too, because the complaining was distracting Castiel, just a little. Just enough.

[2] Though he had no words for it, Dean was wanting Castiel to be comfortable, and to have a gender that was closer to what he actually felt, which was agender, rather than male, instead of spending so much time and effort mimicking something he was not. Aziraphale would have cooed over a choice like agender, a human gender that was close to the genderless state of an angel, while still maintaining a multifaceted human experience. Of course, Castiel never would have thought of this on his own; it took Dean, a human, because at the end of the day only humans understood gender. One day, when they had this discussion for real, Castiel would decide to keep ‘he,’ since he was used to it and the word was rather meaningless to an angel anyway.

[3] The Empty, the Empty, the Empty: once upon a time, Castiel had made that terrible deal, and the Entity that ruled the Empty had promised to come for him, when he was at his most content. This was so close to perfect, just a breath away, he realized with horror. Lucifer was being loud and annoying and ruining the moment—and probably unknowingly saving Castiel’s life. He had to step back. He had to step back right now.

[4] His first one with Chloe had been absolutely spectacular, but they hadn’t been able to curl up together for hours. She’d been magnificent. Lucifer had ached, but he’d been afraid to touch her, afraid to tarnish her, for she’d shone so brightly. He hadn’t realized that the burning, ripping sensation in his chest had been because he’d been physically separated from Chloe until after they’d nestled together somewhere safe, and the pain had been soothed. The high had been amazing; he hadn’t been able to stop looking at her, but the fear of that day had crept up on him, distracted him. That paradox had been marvelous, and he would treasure it, but otherwise it had been a terrible bloody day. Their subsequent paradoxes were better, though, and also included snuggles, so that was alright. Still, he was hardly going to put Crowley’s Pigeon through that sort of pain if he didn’t have to. 

[5] A half-hour. A half-hour. It ended in a half-hour. There were things to do and things to worry about, Lucifer was clearly seething, and a half hour wasn’t nearly enough—there. He wasn’t perfectly content. The Entity could wait. This logic was extremely tenacious and Castiel would definitely need a better system, he thought abstractly.

[6]Not even close but it was a funny coincidence.

[7] Bad things. Bad things. Sam and Jack were in danger, Lucifer was furious, the _world_ was in danger; everything was actually terrible, but Dean _loved him_ —And that wouldn’t help him save the world! This was a losing battle, Castiel thought, grimly amused.

[8] STARVING CHILDREN, Castiel thought frantically. Chuck was going to murder them all! His friends were in danger! This was a terrible idea! He grasped at straws and hung on to them for dear life because Dean was—Dean was—warm and close and _perfect_ and humans fought _horrible wars—_


	14. Chapter 14

Lucifer knocked on their door, way too soon. “Are you finished fornicating?” he demanded.

Dean wanted to call back _no_ just to spite him, but Cas nuzzled along his hairline, all affection, and said, “We will be out in a moment.”

“Don’t wanna be out in a moment,” Dean grumbled. Cas chuckled.

“Come on.” He pulled back and then added, a little tentatively but also with relish, “Come on, my Dean.”

Dean followed him off the bed, a weird little shiver coiling around the base of his spine at that possessive _my_. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. Cas fussed at his clothes, fixing where they were askew. Preening, Dean realized, that was preening again. How had he missed this? He reached out and ran his fingers through Cas’s feathers, the ones that had gone crooked, and he fixed some of Cas’s clothes, too.

He’d fussed at Cas’s clothes before, of course. Had Cas interpreted it as preening? He must have. He’d let Dean do it, anyway. Now, Dean fussed with his coverts. Some of the feathers on the leading edge had gone all twisted from the bed, so he fixed it.

“Better,” he said, finally.

“Much,” Cas agreed, warm and fond.

Most of the high had worn off, though Dean still kind of wanted to chase and play games and make out with Cas more. Making out was _fun,_ Jimmy be damned—Cas had some idea of what he was doing but not a whole lot, and he went gaspy and surprised when Dean hit it right. It was great. And those _wings—_ wings were made to be touched; Cas went all puddly and thrumy when Dean ran his fingers through the feathers. It was an absolute crime that Cas couldn’t manifest them back home.

But there were serious things happening, and it was time to talk to Lucifer. He squeezed Cas’s hand, and then opened the door.

“What do you want?” Dean asked.

Lucifer was leaning on the far wall of the hallway, knee bent, one foot braced against the wall. He looked totally different from Nightmare Lucifer, especially since Nightmare Lucifer had possessed a bunch of people, but the weirdness hadn't worn off. He held himself differently, Dean thought, watching him. He couldn't put his finger on how, though. 

“Don’t you look refreshed,” Lucifer leered, meeting his eyes.

Dean could feel Cas’s glare over his shoulder.

Lucifer chuckled. It looked like the time had done him good, too. He seemed less likely to break things, which was surprising, given that he was Lucifer. “Oh, relax, Pigeon, I have my own. Mine’s better. I have no need for your little hedgewitch; keep him. Chloe is a great believer in monogamy anyway, more’s the pity. Shall we go downstairs? They’re waiting.”

From behind, Cas took Dean’s hand. “Let’s go.”

This was also kind of weird. Dean’s head was clearing, regretfully, and the hand-holding thing was starting to have more—weight. It was kind of girly, wasn’t it? But he wanted it. He wanted it really badly, and from the way Cas clutched at him, he wanted it, too.

Well. Fuck it. What was Lucifer going to do, judge him? Better or not, he was still _Lucifer._ His opinion didn’t matter. Whatever. He twined his fingers with Cas’s and didn’t let go. Cas made that _prrt_ sound at him again. He sounded pleased. Dean was going to have to figure out what that meant.

They went down the stairs—tricky while holding hands, which was still girly but fuck it—and made it to what looked like a foyer. Lucifer led them back and around to a sort of living room full of sleek couches. Chloe Decker and her daughter Beatrice were sprawled on one of the couches, watching a movie.

Funny. According to Amenadiel and Michael, she was the woman keeping them all alive. She and her daughter, he supposed; Michael had said bloodlines, so the kid was part of it too. She looked—perfectly normal. They both did. Beatrice had her head in her mom’s lap, and Chloe was braiding her hair. There was no indication whatsoever of the raw power it took to render an angel human-ish, or a god unable to set foot on the world. The movie they were watching looked superhero-y, but Dean didn’t recognize it.

A truly enormous German Shepherd was asleep in a dog bed under a window[1]. Dean had a sneaking suspicion that that was another Hellhound, the one Ella had mentioned. So maybe the woman and the girl on the couch weren’t so normal after all, he thought, amused.

“Lucifer!” said Beatrice, lifting her head. Her mom tied off the braid. “Are they done with the sex?”

Dean blinked, taken aback, but Chloe groaned. “Trixie,” she said, a little severely.

“What? That’s what they were doing, right Lucifer?”

“Probably,” said Lucifer, shrugging.

Dean didn’t drop Cas’s hand, but he did pinch his nose. Definitely not normal, he thought.

“This is not something I’m supposed to tell them, is it?” asked Cas in a hiss.

“No,” Dean replied, “It is not something you are supposed to tell them.” The hadn’t actually had sex, in fact. Never mind that Dean was a little uncertain about that once he’d sobered up a bit—because dude-shape—but Cas had pulled away a little when things got too heated, claiming that he was overwhelmed[2]. 

“Private,” Cas said, “I see. That’s private,” he added to Beatrice.

“Private _parts_ ,” muttered Lucifer.

“Alright! Alright. Come here, Lucifer,” said Chloe, rolling her eyes.

Lucifer maneuvered himself between Chloe and Beatrice, snuggling up to Chloe unselfconsciously. Beatrice leaned on his other side, totally unconcerned that he tried to swat her away a few times. It was kind of funny. Also, now that Dean was really looking, kind of unreal. Michael said that Chloe was made to make an antichrist—something cold and cruel on Heaven’s part, of course. But Lucifer brushed some hair from her eye, careful and affectionate, and that was unreal, too. His eyes met Dean’s.

He did love her, Dean thought, skeptical of the thought even though literally everyone had been telling him that, even though it was clear they could do a paradox. Lucifer’s eyes flashed a little, protective, as if daring Dean to threaten them. Surprisingly, Dean had no intention of doing that.

“Sit,” said Chloe, quiet and civil, perfectly normal. “Tell us what happened. Can I leave yet?”

So, there were options here. There was a loveseat, but also there was an armchair. It was a big, ridiculous room. Anyway, Lucifer was all snugged up next to his human, so, presumably, that was an okay thing here. Dean wasn’t quite comfortable with it, but he _wanted_ it, wanted like he’d wanted nothing else before, so he pulled Cas down to the chair and made him sit, before perching on the arm himself. 

Dean had treated Cas poorly enough. Things were changing, he thought, determined, right here, right now. If they were going to do the chair – and they were, because that meant they could sit closer—then Cas got the seat. Dean got the arm. No arguments. It was stupid and symbolic and they were doing it.

Cas didn’t argue, but he seemed to get what Dean was trying to do. Sure enough, after Dean sat, Cas leaned up and into him, just a little. Dean leaned back, pleased. How had he dismissed this as brotherly? How? How had he ignored it, denied it, refused it? Abused just like Cas was.

Not anymore.

“So, I had a fight with Crowley,” said Dean, and he was suddenly reevaluating Crowley too; yellow eyed demon or not, Cas loved him, and also Crowley was capable of _this_ , with his mortal enemy no less. That changed everything. “And I took a walk with Aziraphale, and Crowley and Cas went flying to cool down.”

“The angel came from nowhere,” said Cas, picking up the story. “He knocked me off course with his downdraft, and then he spun behind us, up and to the left; his blade caught Crowley’s wing. It’s a well-known maneuver to remove the wings of your opponent.” This was to the humans in the room. “I performed a counterstrike with my blade, and he fell, dead. I helped Crowley land, and we returned to the Sunset House. The wound should not threaten his life, but it will hurt, and if not tended to, it will get worse. It will be somewhat difficult to heal, due to the blade and the placement. Aziraphale is with him now.”

“From Heaven,” growled Lucifer. “Not nowhere. You said he came from Heaven. An act of war.” He clenched a fist, visibly angry. His eyes glowed red, just a little. Dean had seen that red glow on Nightmare Lucifer before; it was unsettling to see it here, too, on Daydream Lucifer. “I will not be manipulated.”

It was Beatrice, oddly enough, who made a funny small angel sound at him, kind of a cooing low in her throat. The fire in Lucifer’s eyes died down, a little.

“We sent Amenadiel and Michael to investigate,” Cas continued, clearly not even a little alarmed. “And then Dean, Ella and I inspected the angel’s body. The joints were bleeding, and the angel had pieces of the First Sphere imbedded in his forearm, like he had dived right through.” He held up his arm as if to shield his face in demonstration. “Amenadiel confirmed that it was direct orders from Him Above. He gave orders to the rest of Heaven to distract them; he told them that Chloe was dead. Hopefully, this will afford you some protection.” He smiled tightly at Chloe. “If he is caught in the lie, it’ll cost him his flight feathers.”

Lucifer pressed closer to Chloe at that, clearly disliking the thought of her dead. Though there were still seeds of red light in his eyes, he frowned. Concern for Amenadiel? Dean wondered. “More than that. They’ll pinion him,” Lucifer said, soft.

Next to Dean, Cas shuddered.

“Pinion?” Dean asked.

Cas, who had tucked his wings away to sit in the chair, tugged on Dean’s arm. He stretched it out and positioned it, elbow and wrist bent as if it were a wing, and then tapped on his wrist. It was touchier than he usually was. It was nice. “They slice here,” he said. “You never fly again.”

Warm fuzzies gone. “Ouch,” said Dean, a little horrified. The thought of Cas’s hunter’s wings, with their incredible blades, cut in half like that—

No, nope, not going there.

“Michael says that you can’t stop Chuck from coming here, but that you—inhibit him, a little,” Cas added to Chloe. “It’s why He’s sending angels instead of coming himself.”

Chloe sighed. “We did assume as much. But what do we do? We can’t fight _God_!”

“Well, we _can_ ,” Lucifer said darkly. He still looked angry. “It just doesn’t work very well.”

“Can’t kill him, either,” said Dean. “It’s lights out, if we kill him. It affects the balance; the world falls apart.” This was extremely annoying, since Dean would love nothing better than to gank the bastard. 

“Can you trap him?” asked Beatrice, leaning on Lucifer’s shoulder, completely unafraid. “In like a crystal or something? Mom and Lucifer once trapped like a bazillion imps in a big water jug. If he’s trapped, he’s not dead, and the lights stay on.”

Dean blinked at her. Actually.

Actually.

“We—tried it once,” he said slowly. “Kind of a half-cocked plan, though.”

“Well, it won’t work then,” Lucifer drawled. “You need the full cock. It’s Dad.”

“Lucifer,” sighed Chloe, though she looked amused. “Okay. So—trapping—God? What would that even look like?”

“I’ve got a very large volcano in Hell,” Lucifer spat. “And a lake of fire. It’s the _least_ of what He deserves.”

“That’s where he threw you,” Chloe murmured. Lucifer nodded, wordless, eyes fixed on hers. “But this isn’t about revenge,” she said quietly. Dean was kind of astounded; she held Lucifer rapt, still, and calm. The Lucifer from home would have been spitting and snarling, rambling. “This is about safety. If you make it about revenge, Lucifer, you’ll make a mistake. We need to think.” She gave a little, kind of shocked chuckle. “About trapping _God,_ how is this my life?”

Dean huffed. “You get used to it,” he said, dryly.

Chloe smiled at him. “We really need to talk, you and me,” she said. “I’ve got questions and I’m sure you do too. What about Islington’s Cage?” This she directed to Lucifer.

“Not strong enough,” said Lucifer. “And He’ll know the way out.”

“Were you in a cage here?” Dean asked Lucifer. “Can that hold him?”

“Yes,” said Lucifer. “But he made it. He made _everything_ ; he’ll be able to get out.”

“Paradox,” said Cas quietly, a little reverently, at Dean’s side. “He didn’t make the paradox.”

A little shiver went through Dean, not quite heat—not the same as desire, but similar. The paradox had been awesome.

Lucifer thought about this. “As lovely as that sounds, I don’t think we could hold him indefinitely. I also want my Detective to have a life.” He stroked Chloe’s knee. “Which might be difficult if we have to continually maintain it.”

“Amenadiel suggested a mock battle with Michael,” Cas said. “Instead of trapping God, we could make it appear that the planet has already been destroyed. An illusion. It can buy us time.”

“Not a bad plan,” Lucifer murmured. “I doubt Heaven will go for it, though.”

“We’ll think about it,” said Dean. “I can bring it to Sam. And—” he blinked. “And Jack. _Jack_. Cas, Billie has that plan to kill God with Jack. What if we twist it around? Killing God will upset the balance anyway. Do you think Jack can entrap him?”

“I don’t know,” said Cas, frowning. “But with the support of Angel Network behind him, maybe.”

“I thought Jack was dead,” said Lucifer.

“He came back,” said Cas.

“That upsets the natural order,” Lucifer said with a frown.

“Yeah. But he was brought back by a Reaper[3], if that helps,” said Dean.

“It does not.” Lucifer scowled. “But you’re right. We need the rest of Angel Network. And I need Azazel—he needs to know not to launch an attack on Heaven. We will not be goaded into a war just to destroy the world. I refuse.” He gritted his teeth and visibly reined in his anger[4]. “Which means you, Castiel, need to take your human there as far away as you possibly can. Maybe go with Crowley to London or something. Azazel’s got a grudge.”

Azazel was a different Azazel than the one that killed Dean’s mom, but it still made Dean’s hackles rise. “Azazel?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “You killed his alternate. Now he’s annoyed. Look, it’s idiotic Hell logic; don’t take it personally. All you need to do is stay away.”

“Yeah, really not liking the sound of that,” said Dean.

“You’re not allowed to kill my best general; he’s the only one with half a teaspoon of common sense Down There.” Lucifer shook a finger at Dean. “If you kill him, I’m stuck with _Paimon._ Do you know what a creep Paimon is[5]?”

Dean gaped at this.

Chloe wriggled out of Lucifer’s embrace. “Alright. Are we done? Because Dean and I really do need to talk.”

Lucifer made a sad, chirrupy angel noise at her as she moved away from him. To Dean’s absolute surprise, she whistled back, the way Crowley and Aziraphale had whistled.

Yeah, he realized abruptly, he needed to talk to her. He slipped from Cas’s side.

Cas gave him sad eyes, but otherwise made no sound. Chloe tilted her head, and Dean followed out of the room. He glanced back at Cas, a little concerned because he was leaving him alone with _Lucifer,_ even an alternate Lucifer, but he didn't seem bothered. In fact, Dean's last glimpse was of Cas shifting forward on his chair to speak, Lucifer and even Beatrice leaning in to listen. 

This just kept getting stranger. Cas didn't seem alarmed, though, so Dean followed the famed Chloe Decker out into the sunlight, curious about what she had to say for herself. 

\------------------

[1] By this point Lucifer had got rid of Raguel’s mutts, leaving only Shepherd, who was exhausted from playing with them all morning. He’d got the dogs to good homes, even, dammit. Bloody Angel Network.

[2] Overwhelmed and not wanting to die! This was a dream and a nightmare all at once! He needed to talk to Crowley, because Crowley would know what to do—maybe? Sometimes Crowley knew things—except that Crowley would also shout at him so he was putting it off.

Crowley would definitely not know what to do, but he would shout, so Castiel was right about that at least.

[3] Chloe made a confused face at Lucifer. What the Hell was a Reaper?

Trixie knew. Maze had told her about Reapers, once, those entities that took away the souls of the dead. Maze had promised to keep them away from her. When she’d got Shepherd, Maze had said that a Hellhound was more than enough to scare away a silly Reaper.

[4] This was not a skill learned from Linda. This was because he was so close to Chloe, and he didn't want his rage to touch her, though it inevitably did, sometimes. Still, he was trying.

[5] This was saying something because Azazel was also a creep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!! I'm too sleepy to finish up replying; if I haven't got back to you yet, I haven't forgotten about you!! I still love you!! I just wanted to get the next chapter up!! :D

She led him outside again. The back porch was large, and it looked out onto a perfectly sculpted backyard, all inside the paradox-wards. The porch ended in a big round area, covered and with a fan. There were couches. Chloe sat on one, and Dean sat across from her.

“Celestial hearing,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They’ll have a harder time hearing us out here, unless they snoop. Is Castiel the snooping kind?”

“Uh,” said Dean, “Not if I tell him something’s private?”

“He’ll keep Lucifer in check, then,” she said with a nod. “Alright. Hi. Sorry about all this.”

Dean stared at her and then laughed, quietly. “You say that like my life isn’t already a shitshow,” he said.

“Fair point,” she replied. “How are you feeling? I was a bit freaked out after my first paradox[1]. I mean, Lucifer was really great about it—surprisingly—but still.”

“Yeah, see this—is not normal,” Dean pointed out. “The world’s about to end and you want to talk about my sex life?” It wasn’t really sex. But it also kind of was. It was confusing.

“Yeah. It’s weird. I know it’s weird, and the timing’s weird, and everything’s weird. But we’re the only two humans to successfully pull off a full paradox. We’ve got to talk. Linda’s—not quite there yet.” She shrugged.

“Who’s Linda?”

“Amenadiel’s girlfriend,” said Chloe. “Also, Lucifer’s therapist.”

“Lucifer has a _therapist._ ”

Chloe shrugged. “Thank god, really. He definitely needs one.” She hesitated. “Did you really kill your Lucifer?”

“Yeah,” Dean said gruffly. “With Michael, and an archangel’s blade. But—you have to understand, that Lucifer—he tried to end the world, he tortured my brother, he possessed Cas—” Dean couldn’t really believe that he was justifying this, that he had to justify this, but Chloe watched him, assessing, and he knew that he did.

“Really evil,” she said.

“Really evil,” Dean agreed.

“This one’s not,” she said. “Evil, I mean. And he’s—mine. Don’t—don’t hurt him.” She swallowed, but otherwise held his eyes, almost fearless. Dean was impressed.

He shook his head. “Unless he gives me a reason, unless he hurts people, I won’t.”

Chloe thought about this[2]. Finally she said, “He won’t.” She sounded very certain. Dean was even more impressed.

Made to make an antichrist, he thought uneasily. Should he tell her? “So how did you get caught up in all this?” he asked instead. “I mean. _Lucifer_.”

Chloe smiled a little, like it was a fond memory. “Well. It was a murder, actually. One of his friends was killed, and I was on the case. He didn’t do it.” She added this wryly, raising an eyebrow at Dean. He smiled kind of sheepishly. He _liked_ her, he thought. She continued, “Then he kind of followed me around and became my partner. Work partner. I had no idea that he was _actually_ Lucifer until a few years ago. It wasn’t like he didn’t tell me all the time, but who would believe that? Anyway, I got there eventually. And I freaked out, of course.”

“Of course,” said Dean. It wasn’t like Dean hadn’t also freaked out when angels had started showing up in his life, though admittedly that had been amidst a bunch of other really freaky stuff.

“Has Castiel—taught you anything about angels?” Now her eyes were laser focused again; this was why she’d brought him outside. To be fair, Dean was hungry for this information, even though it was a weird time to be talking about it. The antichrist thing tugged at him, too. Tell her or not?

“Not really,” said Dean. “Except how to kill them.”

She blinked at him. “Seriously?”

“My world is terrible,” said Dean, wry.

“Yeah, I see that.” She frowned. “Did you fix his wings?”

“Yeah. Aziraphale showed me.”

She nodded. “Crowley showed me. They need it weekly, you know. Preening. It really matters.”

“ _Weekly_?” Dean blurted, horrified. “Cas wasn’t preening at all! For _years_!”

Chloe nodded. “Lucifer was like that, too. It kind of does things to them. Psychologically, you know. Linda—she’s been trying to write up notes on angels. She had Aziraphale and Crowley do an experiment, once, where they skipped preening and they apparently nosedived. She stopped it after three weeks.”

And Cas hadn’t been doing it for years. “What happened?”

“Loneliness,” said Chloe. “Fear of abandonment. Low self-esteem. That’s what Linda said, anyway. Apparently, they started fighting. Not—not physically or anything, they would never, but over stupid things. It’s that low self-esteem. You can get by on monthly—Crowley told me once that you can do monthly—but it hurts them. It’s like being starved, I think.” She shook her head. “Crowley has no idea what he’s talking about[3]. It has to be weekly.”

“Weekly,” Dean said, nodding. “Alright. We have to figure something out at home.” Maybe welding goggles? Would that even work? No way would Cas consent to experimenting. “Listen,” he said after a moment, not really sure how to ask this but also dying to know. “Do you know—I mean, Cas doesn’t make a lot of those—noises – in fact, he literally never did ‘til he got here—”

“Yeah, it’s a social thing,” Chloe said, catching on right away. “They do it when they’re together and relaxed. Less so around humans, or other angels they don’t like. The only way to get them to do it around you is to do it back.”

That made sense. “What do they mean?”

Chloe smiled. “Thrumming means ‘I love you,’” she said. “You know, that big deep one, that resonates in your chest?” She looked around and then made the sound, low and soft—it didn’t resonate right but it was a damn good impression.

“How did you do that?” He almost added, _it came out all wrong when I tried it,_ but that was a bit—more than he wanted to share. Than he was ready to share.

“It’s hard. You have to go as deep as you can go and then go deeper. There’s kind of a vibration, too. Honestly, I found videos of a bass guitar and tried to mimic it. Uh, also, they don’t like it when you do it as a demonstration. Apparently, it _always_ means ‘I love you,’ really heartfelt, regardless of context.”

Dean blinked. That was good to know, and the guitar thing was an excellent idea. “I—am going to do that,” he said.

She nodded. “And this one—” she made that _prrt_ sound. “It’s kind of like ‘uh-huh,’ but it has some other meanings too. Like ‘I’m paying attention,’ or ‘I know’ or ‘I approve.’ Informal agreement, Linda calls it[4].”

“How did you figure this out?” Dean demanded.

“Trial and error,” she grimaced. “And Lucifer explained some of it, though he’s pretty bad at this sort of thing,” she added, amused. “Linda and I compare notes, too, and Trixie learns fast. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know—you’re not alone in this. Angel Network is big, and there’s a bunch of other humans in it, too. It’s kind of overwhelming at first but you get the hang of it. We need more humans, though.” She smirked. “The angels are all disasters. Please, we need more humans.”

Dean laughed. “Do you know Enochian?” he asked, wanting to give her something back.

She shook her head. “Lucifer tried to teach me a few words but—” she grimaced. “I think it reminded him of Heaven, so I didn’t ask him for more.”

“I can teach you some,” offered Dean. “Sam—my brother, Sam—he knows more. But I can usually pick up the gist of a conversation, though everyone has accents here.”

“That would be great,” Chloe said. She leaned forward. “Linda’s been trying to pull some out of Amenadiel, but Amenadiel still thinks that it’s not for humans.” She rolled her eyes.

Dean snorted. “It’s totally for humans.”

He liked her, he realized, as the conversation lulled. He liked her a lot. “He’s—good to you, though, right?” Dean asked, awkwardly. “Just—well—he’s _Lucifer_. He’s the _devil._ And—” He hesitated. He wanted to tell her. But would she freak? They needed her.

“He’s not like the Lucifer you described,” Chloe said. “He’s ready to jump in front of—bullets and razor wire for me, things that could actually hurt him. I’d rather not get into that but—yes. He doesn’t always understand what it is to be human, but he tries his best. He’s good to me.”

“There’s something you should know,” Dean said, frowning. “Michael. He went to Heaven. He said—he said that the two of you could—well—” Make an evil baby? How do you even describe that? “If you have kids it could be the antichrist,” he blurted. There. He’d said it.

Chloe blinked at him. “Of course he did,” she muttered after a moment. “I mean, obviously.” This was sarcastic. “What’s one more thing?” Clearly annoyed, she pinched her nose.

“Sorry,” said Dean gruffly. “Thought you ought to know.”

“Yeah, probably.” She sighed explosively. “This is so—” She cut herself off and got to her feet, paced two quick laps. “So typical. Just—the level of— _invasive_ —” She didn’t seem to be referring to Dean.

“I mean that is kinda Chuck’s jam,” said Dean. “Being invasive.”

Chloe barked a laugh, more bitter than amused. “Right. You’re right, why am I even surprised anymore.” She sat again. “Lucifer doesn’t like kids, and anyway I wasn’t planning on—yeah. I can’t _believe_ —” she growled, cut herself off. “Does Lucifer know?”

“Not that I know of,” said Dean. 

“Great, let me tell him,” she said. She sounded really pissed. Which—wasn’t quite what Dean had expected, somehow. He’d expected, like—angst, not anger. 

“Sorry,” said Dean again, for lack of anything better to say.

“Not your fault,” growled Chloe. “You know, I wondered. That’s what an antichrist _is_ , after all, Lucifer’s kid. By definition. I mean, look at Adam. I made my peace with that a while ago. It’s still _completely infuriating._ ”

Dean had no idea who Adam was. “That’s Chuck for you,” Dean said, a little weakly. “He’s been manipulating me, too.”

She blinked at him. “He has?”

“Yeah. My whole life, apparently. It sucks.” This came out angrier than Dean intended.

“What do you do about it?” Chloe asked. She seemed genuinely curious, too, like she had been thinking about it for a while. Who knew? Involved with someone like Lucifer—she probably had.

“I’m going to kill him.” Dean said it with absolute conviction, even though he knew it was impossible. Killing Chuck meant setting the world out of balance. Without the Light there was only Amara, the Darkness, and the world needed both to live. Still. He would find a way, he thought angrily. There had to be a way. That bastard didn’t get to dick him and Sammy and Cas and Jack around and live. 

Chloe looked at him skeptically[5]. “Seems a little extreme,” she said. “Will that make it stop? I mean. Heaven and God are different, and Heaven is just as manipulative.”

“It’s a start.”

This didn’t seem to satisfy Chloe.

Dean sighed. He regretted telling her. “We should go back in.”

“Probably. C’mon. I’m glad we got to chat. Thank you,” she added, as if reading his mind. “For telling me. And—just—keep in touch, okay? Angel Network’s all about banding together.”

Banding together. That was nice.

Beatrice—Trixie—was waiting for them by the door. “Lucifer’s going to do something stupid again,” she announced, on no uncertain terms. “I think Castiel is enabling him.”

“Oh for—Monkey, what did he say?” Chloe asked.

“He wants to go to Nightmare World,” said Trixie, hands on her hips. “To straighten this out. I told him he was being stupid. I also want to know why nobody paradoxed little pendants, you know, like necklaces? Then we could go to work and school.”

“That’s—a really good idea,” Chloe said. “I don’t know why we didn’t do that.”

“Adults are stupid,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m going to go live with Maze when you move to the penthouse. She has sense.”

“You can’t live with Maze, Monkey,” said Chloe, amused.

“I think you’re prejudiced because she’s a demon.”

“I’m dating the devil.”

“He’s an _angel,_ ” said Trixie. “Doesn’t count. Anyway, Maze can keep me safe.”

One day, Dean thought, amused, he was going to meet this Maze. He strolled past Chloe and back into the living room. He found Lucifer and Cas huddled together, talking urgently. “What’s this about Lucifer coming back to our world?” he asked.

Twin guilty stares. Now that was something. Dean suppressed a laugh and did his best to look severe.

“We have access to more information on Nightmare World,” said Cas. “The bunker has all the information we could need. If Crowley and Maze stay here, in this house, they’ll be safe from attacking angels. Lucifer and I can research possible solutions. He will be able to return here at any time through the Eighth Circle gate.”

“Sam’s going to freak,” said Dean. “And so will Jack. It’s really not a good idea.” Oh god, everything _had_ gone to shit, because Dean really wanted to tack a ‘sweetheart’ at the end of that sentence. He stopped himself just in time.

“We just need the right spell, and I don’t have anything of that magnitude in my library,” said Lucifer firmly. “It’s worth the risk.”

“The right spell?” asked Chloe, coming in behind Dean.

“We can’t fight Dad. Trapping him is difficult, and killing him upsets the Balance,” said Lucifer. “But we’ve missed our most important ally.”

“Who’s that?” said Dean.

“Mom.”

“Uh—what?” Dean spluttered. What the Hell? “You have a mom? Cas?”

“She disappeared when I was still an eyas,” said Cas. “Lucifer and I have—compared. As the Darkness was trapped in our universe, so Mother was trapped in this one.”

“Dude, I don’t like the sound of that,” said Dean.

“Lucifer, didn’t you say she tried to kill me?” Chloe asked.

“Yes, and also I hate her,” said Lucifer conversationally. “But she’s his match. And she’s very angry at him. I gave her a new universe for her very own with Azrael’s Blade. If I could just find her, find the entrance to her universe again, and tell her what Dad’s doing—there’s a good chance she’ll help. Dad is, after all, murdering all of her children. Angels,” he added to Chloe. “She doesn’t much care for humans, though she definitely cares for my wretched siblings[6].”

“We are nearly extinct, in our world,” said Cas.

“She won’t like that at all,” said Lucifer. He looked back at Chloe. “She’s our best bet, darling.”

Chloe thought about this. She looked down at Trixie, clearly thinking and thinking hard[7].

Trixie lifted her chin. “Mom’s going with you,” she said.

“Trixie!” hissed Chloe.

“He needs you,” she said. “I’ll be here, with Maze and Crowley. They said it’s bloodlines, mom. If I’m here, I protect this world. If you’re in Nightmare World, you protect that one. And you just said there are like no angels, right?” she raised an eyebrow at Cas. “Nobody to attack. We can keep more people safe this way. And if you find Lucifer’s mom—well, good. Besides, you have to watch his back.”

“Trixie, if I’m there he’s—”

“—less of an idiot than if you’re not there,” said Trixie, serenely. “Go. I’m fourteen, and I have Shepherd. I’ll be fine.”

“Beatrice,” said Lucifer.

“I’m safe in this house,” insisted Trixie, very brave for such a small girl. “Three paradoxes all layered—nobody can touch me here. We need you to save everyone, mom.” She smiled, wobbly.

“Baby—” blurted Chloe, and lunged, hugging her daughter. “No, I can’t leave you here, of course not.”

“It won’t be safe,” said Lucifer, sounding horrified. “For either of you!”

“If you’re in Nightmare World, you’ll buy them more time!” insisted Trixie, pulling back. “You’ll keep Him Above away. I can be on my own for a few days.” She held up her head, proud. “I have Shepherd. And my knife.” This she added slyly, like it had some kind of significance. Who knew, Dean thought—maybe it did. “And Maze and Crowley and Aziraphale will stay with me.”

“You are,” Chloe whispered, knocking her forehead against Beatrice’s, “so brave.”

“No,” said Lucifer, sounding totally freaked. “Ah—no. We just paradoxed this house so you’d be safe! Now you want to come to Nightmare World? _Nightmare World_ , Detective? Are you insane?”

Chloe pulled back from her daughter. “Probably,” she said. “But she’s right. If I’m there with you, Him Above can’t hurt you while you’re there. And it’ll keep Him from burning up that world, too.”

“But the Nightmare World angels can find you there!” Lucifer cried.

“There aren’t enough,” Cas said. “They’re needed in Heaven. They won’t attack either way.”

“Then the imps,” gritted Lucifer, glaring at Cas.

Dean shrugged. “They’re under Rowena’s thumb. They won’t bother us either.” Chloe in Nightmare World, keeping Chuck away while they looked for a solution, was not sounding like a bad plan.

“And the monsters?” growled Lucifer.

“No monsters in our bunker,” Dean said, sort of fascinated by this display of care from Lucifer of all people.

Lucifer looked at Chloe. Chloe shrugged.

“I hate this plan,” Lucifer announced, but he sounded plaintive.

“I kind of do too,” said Chloe. “Nightmare World sounds terrifying. But it’ll buy us time to find a solution. Besides—You’re my partner. I can’t let you go alone.” She smiled at him tremulously.

“You absolutely can,” Lucifer muttered. “In fact, you should. Please don’t come.”

“Sorry,” said Chloe, not sounding sorry. “If I can keep you safe, you’re stuck with me.”

Dean shared a look with Cas. Looked like they were bringing the Devil and a civilian home.

Sammy was gonna _freak_.

\----------------

[1] Frankly, there was a lot to be freaked out about. She’d been tortured by a bunch of imps. Trixie was terrified. Aziraphale had been hurt, and Crowley was frantic. The paradox was amazing, but it was frightening too: she’d had a moment where she’d realized that with that power, she could fix Lucifer, undamn him, and she’d had to talk herself out of it, because she knew he didn’t want that. She didn’t even want that. It had been a terrifying moment. It was just—too much power, and so unfamiliar, and she’d experienced so much evil that day. And then he’d been so shy to touch her, though it was all she had wanted. It hadn’t been a good day.

[2] Mostly she thought about how this was still not really okay, and how terrible Nightmare World sounded. What gave Dean Winchester the authority to take a life like that? Was Dean a killer, or was Nightmare World really that bad? The way Crowley talked about it, it was really that bad. She would need to think about this more.

[3] Crowley had every idea of what he was talking about. But slinking about on Earth alone shortly after the Beginning, still traumatized about the Fall and feeling like shit anyway, was very different from his life these days. You really could get by doing it yourself every month, but it was a bit like eating every other day. No permanent damage, but it sucked.

[4] Amenadiel used that one a lot. He did it when she came home from work, even, a pleased sound that she interpreted as “I see you and I’m glad!” when she came through the door. It was incredibly endearing. Angelic vocables were complex and varied and also fascinating. Though in Linda’s definitely, absolutely unbiased opinion, thrumming was the best one. Chloe agreed so it must be true.

[5] Well, that was a reasonable and measured response, she thought dryly. Hadn’t Dean just said that that would send the world out of balance? Then again, he _was_ from Nightmare World, and he killed Nightmare Lucifer. Who knew what this man was capable of? He was all sweet green eyes and asking earnest if slightly awkward questions about how to take care of an angel; it was clear he cared about Castiel. That was a point in his favor, but this level of intensity about murder was kind of alarming, never mind that he’s actually killed Nightmare Lucifer. Maybe it was worth it to keep an eye on him, Chloe thought. Just in case. 

[6] The Mother Goddess existed across dimensions. In every reality, she was Mother, just as Father was Father in every reality. It’s rather mind-bending for humans to think about. Don’t hurt yourself.

[7] She couldn’t let him go alone, not to that terrible place! He might get killed! He definitely needed her to go with him, but how could she go and leave Trixie? Leave this safe house, where she would be vulnerable to Him Above?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters! Because they're both real short :D

All told, Dean Winchester spent three days in Daydream World, and every single one of them changed his life. Like, his whole freaking life.

Though he had to say that the weirdest was the last night, when a goddamn chariot pulled by two _winged leopards_ showed up in front of the Sunset House.

They were meeting their ride in the Sunset House because apparently, nothing from Hell would be able to find Lucifer and Chloe’s paradox-warded house. This was kind of amusing, except that Lucifer was all glowing eyes and stiff back. He’d got his wings out at one point, and they prickled like pinecones, protective.

They’d all gathered in Crowley and Aziraphale’s master bedroom, sitting on the floor in a circle. Dean sent Sam the letter saying they were coming home but didn’t need the portal opened. In the meanwhile, Dean did his best to ignore prickly, jumpy Lucifer.

He kept an eye on Crowley, out of bed with his wing bandaged. He looked downright miserable and very small, especially for a demon. It was a lot to ask, to trust a yellow eyed demon, and it had only been three days, but Dean was starting to get it. Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s side, uncharacteristically silent. Aziraphale kissed his temple and passed him more Mexican food, since they’d ordered in. Those two could paradox. That said a lot. Dean was kind of fascinated.

Cas had settled right beside Dean, carefully curling a great brown wing around his back. This was feathery and kind of nice, and Dean permitted it, especially since Cas’s wing was big enough that it didn’t hamper any sort of movement. Also, it meant that he could fiddle with that sharpened primary. He kept tearing paper napkins on it, just for the Hell of it. Cas seemed to find this amusing.

And then there was Lucifer, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the rest of them and clearly annoyed about it. Chloe was next to him, and he’d curled a ruffled wing around her too. He looked ready to jump out of his skin. They were all taking a risk, out in the open like this. It was a tense dinner, but it was kind of important that their ride actually find them. Dean wasn’t really sure what Crowley and Aziraphale were doing here, though. They should have gone to the safe house for sure, but it looked like they were being stubborn[1].

At least the Mexican food was good. Like, really good. Even Cas ate it. Apparently Aziraphale was a snob about food.

By the time the chariot arrived, everyone was tense as anything, even Dean, and this wasn’t even his damned world. Lucifer perked up, though.

“They’re here,” he said, and got to his feet. “Are you sure you want to come, darling?” he asked Chloe anxiously. “It will be—incredibly dangerous, and—and not even close to human—”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Besides, Trixie’s right; if we can protect two universes instead of one, it’s worth it.”

He offered his hand reluctantly, and she took it, rising. “Thanks for dinner, guys.”

Aziraphale did not rise, instead cradling Crowley close. “Stay safe,” he said, solemn and sad. “You too, Pigeon, Dean,” he added.

“Thanks,” said Dean. He watched Cas kneel down to hug Aziraphale and run his fingers through the feathers of Crowley’s good wing[2].

“Go directly to the safehouse,” Lucifer told them. “We’ll be back soon.”

“Hold you to that,” rasped Crowley. “Treat him better,” he added to Dean, firm.

“I will,” said Dean, and he meant it.

They followed Lucifer and Chloe down the stairs and out the front door. There, waiting for them, was indeed a green freaking chariot, the royal kind, a stagecoach[3] but _grand_. It was gilded, open and large with a bit for the guy driving the horses and a big section for everyone else. Of course, there were no horses; it was pulled by _leopards_ with _huge spotted bat wings._ Sitting in the chariot was a demon. Well, presumably it was a demon; Lucifer had called the guy. He just looked like a guy, though he had a few weird, out of place scratches on him, and two small horns that curled behind his ears, like a ram. 

“Your Highness,” said the demon.

“Well met, Surgat,” Lucifer said gravely[4]. “We fly with two humans today; if any harm comes to them, I will have your head; is that clear?”

The demon gulped. “Yes, your majesty.” 

Lucifer offered Chloe a hand. “Milady,” he murmured.

She smiled, hesitant, but she let him hand her up into the chariot.

“Am I supposed to offer you a hand?” hissed Cas, looking distressed.

“No,” Dean said, chuckling. Oh, Cas. “That’s a chick thing. I got this.”

“Good—good,” said Cas, relaxing. “I will not be able to speak to you once we get to Hell; I’ll be carrying the spell,” he said. “I know it is still strange—but you can trust Lucifer.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. He can paradox. I know. It’s alright, Cas.” Cas nodded. He shooed Dean up into the chariot and then followed.

Lucifer glanced over when Cas pulled himself up and sat near Dean. He snapped his fingers, and those familiar red lights, like burning fireflies, whispered up into the air.

Cas settled a little more solidly next to Dean. He reached out and caught one of the sparks, and he began to sing. He had a nice voice, Dean thought, and leaned into him, tentative. Clear like an angel, with just a hint of human imperfection. Cas leaned back right away, and Dean sighed, more relieved than he dared to acknowledge.

Lucifer clucked at the demon, and the chariot started forward, and then, like a backwards Santa’s sleigh, plunged downward, down and toward Nightmare World—toward home.

________________

[1] They were absolutely being stubborn. Heaven and Hell were terrifying but Castiel and Lucifer were important, okay, and they would see them off, come Hell or High Water. Aziraphale was fiercer than he looked and Watchdog was with them. They would be fine. Probably.

It wasn’t so much bravery as it was stupidity.

[2] This was comforting and not horrifying. Castiel felt like gunpowder, and the metallic edge of a blade, and powdery, fresh air. All of these things were fine; they were his Pigeon. Crowley had come a long way, and he was far less skittish with his friends, these days.

[3] Dean watched a lot of westerns, okay, he knew what a stagecoach was.

[4] Lesser Demon. Surgat was basically a chauffeur.


	17. Epilogue

Lucifer despised—absolutely despised—taking Chloe to Hell. Screw Nightmare World, screw Mom; Chloe should stay safe, always, and away from this madness.

As Surgat, a glorified taxi driver, arrowed them to the First Circle, Castiel’s song picked up. Lucifer glanced at him; the angel had curled himself protectively around his human, stars in his eyes. Castiel was a pain in the backside, but it was kind of nice to see an angel who wasn’t Amenadiel snuggling his favorite human[1]. Dean, who was, in fact, worse than Castiel, was snuggling back, tentative in the way only an extremely sexually repressed human male could be tentative. Poor thing probably still thought he was straight.

Lucifer looked back at Chloe. She seemed puzzled. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” she said. “Something’s—weird, though.” The warm, sulfur-filled winds of Hell blew back her hair. He was of two minds: on the one hand, it was _very_ fetching, her lovely blonde hair all wind-tossed. On the other, Hell, any part of Hell, should never touch her.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Just—weird? Like everything’s gone kind of dull, I guess. I feel fine—I feel great, actually—but, like, less immediate? If that makes sense?”

Lucifer put the backs of his first two fingers her forehead, concerned. He knew this was a thing people did for their sick loved ones, but he had no idea why. Something about a fever; didn’t matter. She smiled at him.

“I’m fine,” she said, “Really. Just—you know, feeling weird. Maybe it’s a Hell thing.”

“Not mad? No insanity? No little rats scratching at your brain?” Lucifer asked, slanting an accusatory glance to Castiel. Castiel didn’t notice, as all his attention was on Dean.

“No,” said Chloe. “Promise. Just—”

She leaned back a little.

“Watch it!” hissed Lucifer, too late: she had scraped her hand on Castiel’s sharpened primary. Castiel jumped, apologies writ large on his face as he pulled his wing away. His eyes had gone round with horror, though he didn’t stop singing.

“Detective—” Lucifer gasped. He pulled Chloe’s hand close; those feathers were very sharp, they could cut through bone, they could—

Chloe’s palm was clean. Together, she and Lucifer stared. She had a small red line, a very small scratch, but not the deep gash she should have. He turned her hand over, this way and that, confused.

“Lucifer?” she asked.

“Ouch!” Dean had tried the same thing, though much more carefully. Castiel didn’t stutter in his song, but he flailed a little, pulling Dean away from the sharp feather and looking aggrieved. Dean had cut his finger on the feather, just a little, but it was still deep enough to be vicious. Angel feathers cut humans like butter. “Still sharp,” Dean said. “It’s not him; it’s you.”

Hedgewitch. Of course. He was thinking like a hedgewitch. A hunter.

Lucifer looked into Chloe’s eyes, worried, but he saw only his Detective. He twined their fingers, sparked the smallest paradox; saw Castiel grimace, and Surgat retch a little. Chloe gave him a small, confused smile, though of course she responded: love and wonder and delight curled around his heart, made his breath catch. There was no faking that. He squeezed her hand a little, relieved and wanting the contact. It was such a small paradox that the high was hardly more than a joyful a leap of his heart, but it was still good. She was still herself, and leaning into him affectionately. Just—not injured. Just the smallest scratch when there should be a gash—

Wait.

Carefully, on a hunch, Lucifer reached for his own sharpened feathers. He closed his palm around one, felt it bite skin. He pulled his hand back.

While he sat next to Chloe, that should have slashed his hand wide open, too. She turned him human—or rather, she turned him human-ish. Instead, he bore an angel’s injury; a mild scratch. It matched Chloe’s.

They shared an incredulous stare. What the hell?

Below them, the Fourth Circle of Hell flashed by as the chariot made its dogged way through Daydream Hell, on their way to Nightmare World, and an increasingly bizarre Nightmare experience.

_______

[1] Amenadiel snuggling Linda was just weird because. It was Linda. His therapist. And while she was a wonderful, generous lover, it was just a little bizarre to see her with his brother—his nestmate.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Nightmare Paradox](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959483) by [qwertynerd97 (Daffidill23)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daffidill23/pseuds/qwertynerd97)




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